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RELIQUES 



OF 



ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY: 



CONSISTING OF 



OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS, 



AND OTHER PIECES, 



OF OUR 



EARLIER POETS, 



TOGETHEE WITH SOME FEW OP LATEE DATE, 



AND A COPIOUS GLOS8ABY. 



Attention Patron: 

This volume is too fragile for any future repair. 
Please handle with great care. 

U^^VERS^YOFlflCMGANIJHRA^^ I | j 

i 



1 1 



1 

l'- 



HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

MDCCCLI. 



TO 

ELIZABETH, 

LATE DUCHESS AND COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 

IN HER OWN RIGHT 

^ .. BARONESS PERCY, 

ETC. ETC. ETC., 

WffO, BEING SOLE HEIRESS TO MANY GREAT FAMILIES 

OF OUR ANCIENT NOBILITY, 

EMPLOYED THE PRINCELY FORTUNE, 

AND SUSTAINED 

THE ILLUSTRIOUS HONOURS, WHICH SHE DERIVED FROM THEM, 

i THROUGH HER WHOLE LIFE, 

WITH THE GREATEST DIGNITY, GENEROSITY, AND SPIRIT; 

AND WHO FOR HER MANY PUBLIC 

AND PRIVATE VIRTUES 

WILL EVER BE REMEMBERED 

AS ONE OF THE FIRST CHARACTERS OF HER TIME, 

THIS LITTLE WORK 

WAS ORIGINALLY DEDICATED i 

AND AS IT SOMETIMES AFFORDED HER AMUSEMENT, 

AND WAS HIGHLY DISTINGUISHED 

BY HER INDULGENT APPROBATION, 

IT IS NOW. 
WITH THE UTMOST REGARD. RESPECT, AND GRATITUDE; 

CONSECRATED 
TO HER BELOVED AND HONOURED 

MEMORY. 

f 



"I O, /"**• * /w ? O .*■* 



CONTENTS. 



1 

2 



Page 
Essay on the Ancient Minstrels in England xiii 
Notes and Illustrations zziii 



* 



SERIES THE FIRST. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 



5 £$ 



^J 



3 
4 

5 
6 

7 
8 
9 

10 
11 
12 



9 
10 



14 
15 



17 



* 
3 
4 

5 
6 
7 
8 
9 
10 

11 
12 



13 
14 
15 
16 
17 

18 



The ancient Ballad of Chevy Chase 

The Battle of Ottezbourne 

Illustration of the Names in the foregoing 

Ballads *£"** 

The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad. . 

Sir Cauline 11 

Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad .... 12 

King Estmero.. fS 

.On the wold Termagant 19 

fcr Patrick fcpence. A Scottish Ballad .. 20 IK 

RobaVHood and Guy of Gisborne - 2Q 

An Elegy o\ Henry, Fourth Earl of Nor- 
thumberland, by Skelton 24 

The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes 27 

The Child of Elle 28 

Edom (Adam) o'Gordon. A Scottish Ballad 30 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

(Containing Ballad* that illustrate Shahpeare.) 

Essay on the Origin of the English Stage . • 32 
Adam Bell, Clym o' the C lough, and Wil- 
liam of Cloudesly 40 

The aged Lover renounceth Love 47 

Jfopthgh Judge of Israel • 48 

ATJoDyn, Jolly Robyn : 48 

A Song to tty Lute in Musicke. . 49 

King Cophetua and the Beggar-maitL .... 50«l 14 

T ake thpr old Cloak about thee 51 ■ i5 

\YUlpj4WiUow, WUlow 3* 

Sir Lancelot du Lake .'. • 53 

CorydonV Farewell to Phillis £ 55 

The Ballad of Constant Susannah 55' 

Gernutus, the Jew of Venice 55 

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by 

Marlow *• .-...• 58 

The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Raleigh . . 58 

Titus A naronicus's Complaint • • • • • 59 

TakethoseLips away 60 

KmgLejr and his Three Daughters 61 . - 

Youth aruTAge, by Shakspeare 63^ ^ 

The Froucjgo me Duke, or the Tinker's Good 

Fortune 63 

TheFrisijfeC Orders Gray 64 



Pag* 

8 The Farewell to Lore, from Beaumont and 

Fletcher 80 

9 Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel 81 

10 Cupid's Pastime, by Davison 81 

11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir H. 
Wotton t 82 

Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad & • • &3 

Winifreda ?... 84 

The Witch of Wokey 84 

Bryan and Pereene. A West India Ballad, 

by Dr. Grainger 85 

Gentle River, Gentle River. Translated 

from the Spanish 86 

Alcanzar and Zayda, a Moorish Tale .... 88 



BOOK THE THIRD. 



2 
3 
4 
5 
6 
7 



The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase. • 

Illustration of the Northern Names .... 

Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley, • 

The Rising in the North 

Northumberland betrayed by Douglas .... 

My Mind to me a Kingdome is 76 

The Patient Countess, by W. Warner .... 77 
Dowsahell, by Drayton 79 



66 
70 
70 
71 
73 



11 
12 
13 



104 
10 



16 
17 



7 

8 

9 

10 



11 
12 
13 

14 



SERIES THE SECOND. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 

Richard of Almaigne 89 

On the Death of King Edward 1 90 

An original Ballad, by Chaucer. . <....,.. 92 

The Turnament of Tottenham 92 

For the Victory at Agincourt 95 

The Not-browne Mayd 96 

A Balet by the Earl Rivers 100 

Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux 100 

SirAldingar 101 

The Gaberlunzie Man. Scottish. By King 

James V 

On Thomas Lord Cromwell 

Harpalus. An ancient English Pastoral . . 
Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish 

Pastoral 107 

Gentle Herdsman, tell to me 108 

King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tarn- 
worth no 

As ye came from the Holy Land 11 '2 

Hardyknute. A Scottish Fragment. By 
Sir J. Bruce 113 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, 

and a Husbandman 

J ohn Anforpon my Jo. A Scottish Song. . 

ittle John Nobody" 

Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner 

at Woodstock • • 

The Heir of Linne 

Gascoigne's Praise of the fair Bridges, after- 
wards Lady Sandes 123 

Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone .... 124 

Queen Eleanor's Confession 127 

The Sturdy Rook 129 

The Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green. . 129 
An Essay on the word Frr, and the Ancient 

Ballaa Singing 132 

Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 133 

Sir Andrew Barton 1 34 

Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament A Scottish 

Song 1ST 

The Murder of the King of Scots 138 



¥ 



I 



120 
121 




Page 

15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth 139 

16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By 

W. Elderton 140 

17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish 

Song 142 

18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song 142 

19 Mary Ambree 143 

20 Brave Lord Wffloughby 145 

21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley 146 

22 The Winning of Cales 146 

23 The Spanish Lady's Love 147 

24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner. . . . 148 

25 Corin'sFate...,. 152 

26 Jane Shore 152 

27 Corydon's Doleful Knell 155 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's 
Visions 156 

1 The Complaint of Conscience 161 

2 Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance 163 

3 The Wandering Jew 164 

4 The Lye. By Sir Walter Raleigh 166 

5 Verses (vis. two Sonnets) by King James I. 167 

6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. . 167 

7 You Meaner Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton 169 

8 The Old and Young Courtier 169 

9 Sir John Suckling's Campaigne 170 

10 To Althea from Prison. By CoL Lovelace 171 

11 The Downfal of Charing Cross 171 

12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange 172 

13 Verses by King Charles 1 173 

14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff . . 174 

15 The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy .... 175 

16 Why so Pale ? By Sir John Suckling. ... 177 

17 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First 177 

18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the 

Second 178 

19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third. 179 

20 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song 

the Fourth 180 

21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the Fifth 180 

22 The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth. . 181 

23 Lilli-Burlero. By Lord Wharton 181 

24 The Braes of Yarrow. In Imitation of the an- 

cient Scottish Manner. By W.Hamilton 182 

25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Glover . 183 

26 Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone .... 185 

SERIES THE THIRD. 

BOOS THE FIRST. 

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances • 186 

1 The Boy and the Mantle 196 

2 The Marriage of Sir Gawaine 199 

3 King Ryence'8 Challenge 202 

4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment. ..... 203 

5 The Legend of King Arthur 205 

6 A Dyttie to Hey Downe 206 

7 Glasgerion 206 

8 Old Robin of Portingaie 208 

9 Child Waters 209 

10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nic. Breton .. 211 

11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard 212 

12 The Ew-bughts Marion. A Scottish Some 213 



13 The Knight and- Shepherd's Daughter .... 214 

14 The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By 
N.Breton 215 

15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor •.-. . 215 

16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lily e.... 216 

17 The Lady turned Serving man 217 

18 Gil (Child) Morrioe. A Scottish Ballad.. 218 



BOOS THE SECOND. 

1 The Legend of Sir C\j 

2 Guy and Amarant By Sam. Rowlands . . 

3 The Auld Good-man. A Scottish Song . . 
|4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William 

5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty 

6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 

7 Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan. Ditto 

8 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 

9 The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue.. . 

10 The Lady's Fall 

11 Waly, waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish 

Song 

12 The Bride's Burial 

13 Dulcina 

14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy. . ., 

15 A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jonson 

16 The King of France's Daughter 

17 The Sweet Neglect By Ben Jonson .... 

18 The Children in the Wood 

19 A Lover of late was I 

20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield. . . . 

21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By G. Wither 

22 Queen Dido, or the Wandring Prince of 

Troy ,. 

23 The Witches Song. By Ben Johnson .... 

24 Robin Good-fellow 

25 The Fairy Queen 

26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet .... 



BOOS THE THIRD. 



1 

2 
3 

4 

5 

6 



The Birth of St George 249 

St George and the Dragon 252 

Love will find out the Way 254 

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet A Scottish 

Ballad 255 

Unfading Beauty. By Tho. Carew 256 

George Barnwell 257 

7 The Stedfast Shepherd. By Geo. Wither. . 260 

8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Effects of 
Jealousy 46) 

9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 262 

10 Constant Penelope , 263 

11 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. 
Lovelace 264 

12 Valentine and Ursine 264 

13 The Dragon of Wantley f 268 

14 St George for England. The First Part. . 271 

15 St George for England. The Second Part 
By J. Grubb 272 

M& Margaret's Ghost By David Mallet .... 2J& 

17 Lucy and Colin. By Tho. Tickell 277 

18-The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, etc. • . 278 

19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of 
Sir Gawaine 280 

20 Hermit of Warkworth 283 

Glossary 293 



220 
222 
225 

225, i^. 

22o/j 

22 

228 

228 

229 

230 



231 
232 
233 
234 
235 
235 
237 
238 
239 
240 
242 

243 
244 
245 
247 
247 



ADVERTISEMENT 



TO THE 



FOURTH EDITION. 



Twzntt years have near* elapsed since the last edi- ' 
tioo of this work appeared. But, although it was 
sufficiently a favourite with the public, and had long 
been out of print, the original Editor had no desire 
to revive it* More important pursuits had, as might 
be expected, engaged his attention ; and the present 
edition would have remained unpublished, had be 
not yielded to the importunity of his friends, and 
accepted the humble offer of an Editor in a nephew, 
to wnom, it is feared, he will be found too partial. 

These volumes are now restored to the public 
with such corrections and improvements ss have 
occurred since the former impression ; and the text 
in particular hath been emended in many passages 
by recurring to the old copies. The instances being 
frequently trivial, are uot always noted in the 
margin ; but the alteration hath never been made 
without good reason : and especially in such pieces 
as were extracted from the folio manuscript so often 
mentioned in the following pages, where any varia- 
tion occurs from the former impression, it will be 
understood to have been given on tbe authority of 
that MS. 

The appeal publicly made to Dr. Johnson in tbe 
first page of the following preface, so long since ss 
in the year 1765, and never once contradicted by 
bim during so large a portion of his life, ought to 
have precluded every doubt concerning the existence 
of the MS in question. But sucb, it seems, having 
been suggested, it may now be mentioned, that while 
this edition passed through his press, the MS. itself 
was left for near a year with Mr. Nichols, in whose 
house, or in that of its possessor, it wss examined 
with more or less attention by many gentlemen of 
eminence in literature. At the first publication of 
these volumes, it had been in the hands of all, or 
most of, bis friends ; but, as it could hardly be ex- 
pected that he should continue to think ox nothing 
else but these amusements of bis youth, it wss after- 
wards laid aside at his residence in the country. 
Of the many gentlemen above mentioned, who 
offered to give their testimony to the public, it will 
be sufficient to name the Hon. Dames Barrington, 
the Rev. Clayton Mordaunt Cracbetode, and those 
eminent Critics on Shakespeare, the Rev. Dr. 
Farmer, George Steevens, Esq., Edmund Alalane* 



Esq. and Isaac Reed, Esq., to whom I beg leave to 
appeal for tbe truth of the following representation. 

The IMS. is a long narrow folio volume, contain 
ing 195 Sonnets, Ballads, Historical Songs, and 
Metrical Romances, either in tbe whole or in part, 
for many of them are extremely mutilated and imper- 
fect. The first and last leaves are wanting ; and of 
54 pages near the beginning half of every leaf hath 
been torn away, and several others are injured 
towards the end ; besides that through a great part 
of the volume the top or bottom line, and sometimes 
both have been cut off in tbe binding. 

In this state is the MS. itself : and even where 
the leaves have suffered no injury, the transcripts, 
which seem to have been all made by one person, 
(they are at least all in the same kind of band,) 
are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty, 
being in such instances probably made from de- 
fective copies, or the imperfect recitation of illite- 
rate singers ; so that a considerable portion of the 
song or narrative is sometimes omitted ; and mi- 
serable trash or nonsense not unfrequently intro- 
duced into pieces of considerable merit. And often 
the copyist grew so weary of his labour as to write 
on without the least attention to the sense or mean- 
ing ; so that the word which should form the 
rhyme is found misplaced in the middle of the line ; 
and we have such blunders as these, want and witt 
for wanton wW ; even pan and wait for tain and 
paUf, &c. &c. 

Hence the Public may judge how much they 
are indebted to the composer of this collection ; 
who, at an early period of life, with such mate- 
rials and such subjects, formed a work which hath 
been admitted into the most elegant libraries ; and 
with which the judicious antiquary hath just reason 
to be satisfied, while refined entertainment hath been 
provided for every reader of taste and genius. 

THOMAS PERCY, 
Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford. 



* Page 130. Ver. 117.— This mast have been copied from 
a reciter, 
f Page 139. Ver. 164, vis. 

" Hit vUage waxmi pale and wan," 



2 d 



PREFACE. 



The render is here presented with select remains of 
our ancient English Bards and Minstrels, an order 
of men, who were once greatly respected by our 
ancestors, and contribuuteu to soften the roughness 
of a martial and unlettered people by their songs 
and by their music. 

The greater part of them are extracted from an 
ancient folio manuscript, in the Editor's possession, 
which contains near two hundred Poems, Songs, and 
Metrical Romances. This MS. was written about 
the middle of the last century ; but contains compo- 
sitions of all times and dates, from the ages prior to 
Chaucer, to the conclusion of the reign of Charles I.+ 

This manuscript was shown to several learned 
and ingenious friends, who thought the contents too 
curious to be consigned to oblivion, and importuned 
the possessor to select some of them, and give them 
to the press. As most of them are of great simpli- 
city, and seem to have been merely written for the 
people, he was long in doubt, whether, in the present 
state of improved literature, they could be deemed 
worthy the attention of the public. At length the 
importunity of his friends prevailed, and he could 
refuse notning to such judges as the Author of the 
Rambler and the late Mr. Shenstone. 

Accordingly such specimens of ancient poetry 
have been selected, as either show the gradation of 
our language, exhibit the progress of popular opi- 
nions, display the peculiar manners and customs of 
former ages, or throw light on our earlier classical 
poets. 

They are here distributed into volumes, each of 
which contains an independent series of poems, 
arranged chiefly according to the order of time, and 
showing the gradual improvements of the English 
language and poetry from tne earliest ages down to 
the present Each volume, or series, is divided into 
three books, to afford so many pauses, or resting- 
places to the reader, and to assist him in distinguish- 
ing betwen the productions of the earlier, the middle, 
and the latter times. 

In a polished age, like the present, I am sensible 
that many of these reliques ot antiquity will require 
great allowances to be made for them. Yet have 
they, for the most part, a pleasing simplicity, and 
many artless graces, which in the opinion of no mean 



* Chancer quotes the old Romance of " Libioi Diseonins," 
•ad mom others, which are found in this MS. It also con- 
tains several Songs relating to the Civil War in the last cen- 
bot not one that allodea to the Restoration. 



critics* have been thought to compensate' for the 
want of higher beauties, and, if they do not dazzle 
the imagination, are frequently found to interest the 
heart. 

To atone for the rudeness of the more obsolete 
poems, each volume concludes with a few modern 
attempts in the same kind of writing : and, to take 
off from the tediousness of the longer narratives, they 
are every where intermingled with little elegant 
pieces of the lyric kind. Select ballads in the old 
Scottish dialect, most of them of the first rate merit, 
are also interspersed among those of our ancient 
English Minstrels ; and the artless productions of 
these old rhapsodists are occasionally confronted 
with specimens of the composition of contemporary 
poets of a higher class ; of those who had all the 
advantages of learning in the times in which they 
lived, and who wrote for fame and for posterity. 
Yet perhaps the palm will be frequently due to the 
old strolling Minstrels, who composed their rhimes 
to be sung to their harps, and who looked no further 
than for present applause, and present subsistence. 

The reader will find this class of men occasionally 
described in the following volumes, and some par- 
ticulars relating to their history in an Essay sub- 
joined to this preface. 

It will be proper here to give a short account 
of the other collections that were consulted, and 
to make my acknowledgements to those gentle- 
men who were so kind as to impart extracts from 
them ; for, while this selection was making, a great 
number of ingenious friends took a share in the work, 
and explored many large repositories in its favour. 

The first of these that deserved notice was the 
Pepysian library at Magdalen College, Cambridge. 
Its founder, Sam. Pepysf, Esq., Secretary of the Ad- 
miralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II. 
had made a large collection of ancient English 
ballads, near two thousand in number, which he has 
left pasted in five volumes in folio ; besides Gar- 
lands and other smaller miscellanies. This collec- 
tion, he tells us, was " begun by Mr. Selden ; im- 

• Mr. Addison, Mr. Dryden, and the witty Lord Dorset, 
&c. See the Spectator, No. 70. To these might be added 
many eminent Judges now alive. — The learned Selden 
appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things. 
See below. 

t A Life of oar curious collector, Mr. Pepyi, may be aeea 
In " The Continuation of Mr. Collier's Supplement to his 
Great Dictionary, 1715, at the end of voL UL folio. 
PRP.' 



FRKrACE. 



m «>, 



XI 



1 



proved by the addition of many pieces elder thereto 
in time ; and the whole continued down to the year 
1700 ; when the form peculiar till then thereto, viz. of 
the black letter with pictures, seems (for cheapness 
sake) wholly laid aside for that of the white letter 
without pictures." 

In the Ashmole library at Oxford is a small col- 
lection of Ballads made by Anthony Wood in the 
year 1676, containing somewhat more than two hun- 
dred. Many ancient popular poems are also pre- 
served in the Bodleyan Library. 

The archives of the Antiquarian Society at London 
contain a multitude of curious political poems in 
laree folio volumes, digested under the several reigns 
of Henry VI II., Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James 
I., &c 

In the British Museum is preserved a large trea- 
Hure of ancient English poems in MS. besides one 
folio volume of printed ballads. 

From all these some of the best pieces were selected ; 
and from many private collections, as well printed 
ii3 manuscript, particularly from one large folio 
volume which was lent by a lady. 

Amid such a fund of materials, the Editor is 
afraid he has been sometimes led to make too great 
a parade of his authorities. The desire of being 
accurate has perhaps seduced him into too minute 
and trifling an exactness ; and in pursuit of infor- 
mation he may have been drawn into many a petty 
and frivolous research. It was however necessary 
to give some account of the old copies ; though 
often, for the sake of brevity, one or two of these 
only are mentioned, where yet assistance was re- 
ceived from several. Where any thing was altered 
that deserved particular notice, the passage is gene- 
rally distinguished by two inverted ' commas.' And 
the Editor has endeavoured to be as faithful as the 
imperfect state of his materials would admit. For 
these old popular rhimes being many of them copied 
only from illiterate transcripts, or the imperfect recita- 
tion of itinerant ballad-singers, have, as might be ex- 
pected, been handed down to us with less care than 
any other writings in the world. And the old copies, 
whether MS. or printed, were often so defective or 
corrupted, that a scrupulous adherence to their 
wretched readings would only have exhibited unin- 
telligible nonsense, or such poor meagre stuff as 
neither came from the Bard nor was worthy the 
press ; when, by a few slight corrections or additions, 
a most Deautiful or interesting sense hath started 
forth, and this so naturally and easily, that the 
Editor could seldom prevail on himself to indulge 
the vanity of making a formal claim to the improve- 
ment ; but must plead guilty to the charge of con- 
cealing his own share in the amendments under 
some such general title as a " Modern Copy," or the 
like. Yet it has been his design to give sufficient 
intimation where any considerable liberties 4 were 
taken with the old copies, and to have retained either 
in the text or margin any word or phrase which was 
antique, absolete, unusual, or peculiar, so that these 
might be safely quoted as of genuine and undoubted 
antiquity. His object was to please both the judi- 
cious antiquary ana the reader of taste ; and he hath 
endeavoured to gratify both without offending either. 



• Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces 
*tm:l> b«ve three astericks subjoined, thus * # * 



The plan of the work was settled in concert with 
the late elegant Mr. Shenstone, who was to have 
borne a joint share in it had not death unhappily 
prevented him. 9 Most of the modern pieces were of 
his selection and arrangement, and the Editor hopes 
to be pardoned if he has retained some things out of 
partiality to the judgement of his friend. The old 
folio MS. above mentioned was a present from 
Humphrey Pitt, Esq. of Prior's-Lee, in Shropshiref, 
to whom this public acknowledgement is due for 
that, and many other obliging favours. To Sir 
David Dalrymple, Bart, of Hales, near Edinburgh, 
the editor is indebted for most of the beautiful 
Scottish poems with which this little miscellany is 
enriched, and for many curious and elegant remarks 
with which they are illustrated. Some obliging 
communications of the same kind were received from 
John Mac Gowan, Esq. of Edinburgh ; and many 
curious explanations or Scottish words in the glos- 
saries from John Davidson, Esq. of Edinburgh, and 
from the Rev. Mr. Hutchinson, of Kimbolton. Mr. 
Warton, who has twice done so much honour to the 
Poetry Professor's chair at Oxford, and Mr. Hest of 
Worcester College, contributed some curious pieces 
from the Oxford libraries. Two ingenious and 
learned friends at Cambridge deserve the EditoVs 
warmest acknowledgements : to Mr. Blakeway, late 
fellow of Magdalen College, he owes all the assist- 
ance received from the Pepysian library : and Mr. 
Farmer, fellow of Emanuel, often exerted, in favour 
of this little work, that extensive knowledge of 
ancient English literature for which he is so distin- 
guished $. Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the 



• That the Editor hath not here underrated the assistance 
he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. Shen- 
stone's own letter to the Rev. Mr. Graves, dated March 1, 
1701. See his Works, voL iii. letter ciii. It is doubtless a 
great loss to this work, that Mr. Shenstone never saw more 
than about a third of one of these volumes, as prepared for 
the press. 

t Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been pur- 
chased in a library of old books, which was thought to have 
belonged to Thomas Blount, author of the " Jocular Tenures, 
1070/ 7 4to, and of many other publications enumerated in 
Wood's Athene, ii. 73 ; the earliest of which is " The Art 
of Making Devises, 1646," 4to, wherein he is described to be 
" of the Inner Temple." If the collection was made by this 
lawyer, (who also published the " Law Dictionary, 1071," 
folio,) it should seem, from the errors and defects with which 
the MS. abounds, that he had employed his clerk in writing 
the transcripts, who was often weary of his task. 

% To the same learned and ingenious friend, since Master 
of Emanuel College, the Editor is obliged for many correc- 
tions and improvements in his second and subsequent edi- 
tions; as also to the Rev. Mr. Bowie, of Idmistone, 
near Salisbury, Editor of the curious edition of Don 
Quixote, with Annotations, in Spanish, in six vols. 4to. ; 
to the Rev. Mr. Cole, formerly of Blecheley, near Fenny- 
Stratford, Bucks.; to the Rev. Mr. Lambe, of Nore- 
ham, in Northumberland, author of a learned " History of 
of Chess," 1764, 8vo. and Editor of a curious " Poem on the 
Battle of Flodden Field," with learned Notes, 1774, 8vo. ; 
and to G. Paton, Esq. of Edinburgh. He is particularly 
indebted to two friends, to whom the public, as well as him- 
self, are under the greatest obligations ; to the Honourable 
Daines Barrington, for his very learned and curious " Ob- 
servations on the Statutes," 4to. ; and to Thomas Tyrwhitt, 
Esq., whose most correct and elegant edition of Chaucer's 
" Canterbury Tales," A vols. 8vo. is a standard book, and 
shows how an ancient English classic should be published. 
The Editor was also favoured with many valuable remark! 
and corrections from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late fellow o 
St. John's College, in Cambridge, which are not particu 
larly pointed out because they occur so often. He was nc 
less obliged to Thomas Butler, Esq. F.A.S. agent to the 
Duke of Northumberland, and Ch-rk of the Peace for the 
county of Middlesex; whose extensive knowledge of ancient 
w ntiu t(8. records, and history, has been of great use to th 



Hj 



PREFACE. 



British Museum, and other repositories, were owing 
to the kind services of Thomas Astle, Esq. to whom 
tLc yitlttc is indebted for the carious Preface and 
Index annexed to the Harleyan Catalogue*. The 
worthy Librarian of the Society of Antiquaries, Mr. 
N orris, deserves acknowledgement for tne obliging 
manner in which he gave the Editor access to the 
volumes under his care. In Mr. Garrick's curious 
collection of old plays are many scarce pieces of 
ancient poetry, with the free use of which he indulged 
the Editor in the politest manner. To the Rev. Dr. 
Birch he is indebted for the use of several ancient 
and valuable tracts. To the friendship of Dr. 
Samuel Johnson he owes many valuable hints for 
the conduct of the work. And, if the Glossaries are 
more exact and curious than might be expected in 
so slight a publication, it is to be ascribed to the 
supervise! of a friend, who stands at this time the 
first in the world for Northern literature, and whose 
learning is better known and respected in foreign 
nations than in his own country. It is perhaps 



Editor in his attempt* to illustrate the literature or manners 
of oar ancestors. Some valuable remarks went procured by 
Samuel Pegge, Esq- author of that curious work the M Curl* 
alia," 4to. ; bat this impression was too far advanced to 
profit by them all ; which hath also been the case with a 
series of learned and ingenious annotations inserted in the 
Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1793, April, June, July, 
and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will be continued. 
• Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower, 



needless to name the Rev. Mr. Lye, Editor ,of Ju- 
nius's Etymologicum, and of the Gothic Gospels. 

The names of so many men of learning and cha- 
racter the Editor hopes will serve as an amulet, to 
guard him from every unfavourable censure for having 
bestowed any attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. 
It was at the request of many of these gentlemen, 
and of others eminent for their genius and taste, tha v 
this little work was undertaken. To prepare it for 
the press has been the amusement of now and then 
a vacant hour amid the leisure and retirement of 
rural life, and hath only served as a relaxation from 
graver studies. It has been taken up at different 
times, and often thrown aside for many months, 
during an interval of four or five years. This has 
occasioned some inconsistencies and repetitions, 
which the candid reader will pardon. As great care 
has been taken to admit nothing immoral and inde- 
cent, the Editor hopes he need not be ashamed of 
having bestowed some of his idle hours on the an- 
cient literature of our own country, or in rescuing 
from oblivion some pieces (though but the amuse- 
ments of our ancestors) which tend to place in a 
striking light their taste, genius, sentiments, or 
manners. 

Except in one paragraph, and in the Notes sub- 
joined, this Preface is given with little variatioi 
from the first edition in mdoclxv. 



immh 



AN 

ESSAY 



OH THB 



ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND, 



I. Tax Minstrels (A) were an order of men in 
the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of 
poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses com- 
posed by themselves, or othera*. They also appear 
to have accompanied their songs with mimicry and 
action ; and to have practised such various means of 
diverting as were much admired in those rude times, 
and supplied the want of more refined entertain- 
ment (B). These arts rendered them extremely po- 
pular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring 
countries ; where no high scene of festivity was 
esteemed complete, that was not set off with the 
exercise of their talents ; and where, so long as tbe 
spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected and 
caressed, because their songs tended to do honour 
to the ruling passion of the times, and to encourage 
and foment a martial spirit. 

The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine suc- 
cessors of the ancient Bards (C), who under different 
names 4»ere admired and revered, from the earliest 
ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, 
and the North ; and indeed, by almost all the first 
inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic 
racet ; but by none more than by our own Teutonic 
ancestors!, particularly by all the Danish tribes.} 
Among these, they were distinguished by the name 
of Scalds, a word which denotes " smoothers and 



(A) The larger Notes and Illustrations referred to by the 
capital letters (A) (B) &c. are thrown together to the end 
of this Essay. 

* Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author bath readily cor- 
rected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this 
Essay ; and, considering the novelty of the subject, and the 
time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many 
such had been excusable. That the term Minstrel was not 
confined, as some contend, to a mere Musician, in this conn- 
try, any more than on the Continent, will be considered 
more fully in the last note (Gg) at the end of this Essay. 

t Vid. Pelloutier Hist, des Celtes, torn. 1, L 2, c. 0, 10. 

| Tacit, de M or. Germ. cap. 2. 

i VkL Bartholin, de Causis contemptss a Danis Mortis, 
lib. l,cap. 10.— WormiJ Literatnra Runic, ad Anem— See 
also " Northern Autiqmties, or, a Description of the Man- 
sers, Customs, See. of the ancient Danes and other Northern 
Nations: from the French of M. Mallet." London, 
printed lor T. Carnan, 1770, 2 volv svo. 



polishers of language*." The origin of their iff wu 
attributed to Odin or Woden, the father of their 
gods; and the professors of it were held in the 
highest estimation. Their skill was considered as 
something divine; their persons were deemed sacred ; 
their attendance was solicited by kings ; and they 
were every where loaded with honours and rewards. 
In short, Poets and their art were held among them 
in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an 
ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual 
accomplishments. 

As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song, 
from the earliest times, in those countries which our 
Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal 
into Britain, we may reasonably conclude, that they 
would not lay aside all their regard for men of 
this sort immediately on quitting their German 
forests. At least so lon£ as they retained their 
ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold 
them in high estimation. But as the Saxons, soon 
after their establishment in this island, were con- 
verted to Christianity; in proportion as literature 
prevailed among them, this rude admiration would 
begin to abate ; and Poetry would be no longer a 
peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and the Min- 
strel early with us became two persons (D). Poetry 
was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately ; 
and many of the most popular rhimes were composed 
amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries. 
But the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men 
for many ages after the Norman conquest ; and got 
their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the 
houses of the great (E). There they were still hos- 
pitably and respectfully received, and retained many 
of the honours shown to their predecessors, the 
Bards and Scalds (F). And though, as their art 
declined, many of them only recited the composi- 
tions of others, some of them still composed songs 
themselves, and all of them could probably* invent a 
few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but 
most of the old heroic Ballads in this collection 






• Torf^i Prsefat. ad Oread. HisL— Pref. to 
of Bnnic Poetr>." Ac. 



Five Pieces 



AN E8SAY ON THE ANCIEN1 MIN8TREL8. 



were composed by this order of men. For although 
some of the larger metrical romances might come 
from the pen of the monks or others, yet the smaller 
narratives were probably composed by the minstrels 
who sang them. From the amazing variations which 
occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is evi- 
dent they made no scruple to alter each others pro- 
ductions ; and the reciter added or omitted whole 
stanzas, according to his own fancy or conve- 
nience. 

In the early ages, as was hinted above, the pro- 
fession of oral itinerant Poet was held in the utmost 
reverence among all the Danish tribes ; and, there- 
fore, we might have concluded, that it was not un- 
known or unrespected among their Saxon brethren 
in Britain, even if history had been altogether silent 
on this subject. The original country of our Anglo- 
Saxon ancestors is well known to have lien chiefly 
in the Cimbric Chersonese, in the tracts of land 
since distinguished by the name of Jutland, Angelen, 
and Holstein*. The Jutes and Angles in particular, 
who composed two-thirds of the conquerors of 
Britain, were a Danish people, and their country at 
this day belongs to the crown of Denmarkt ; so 
that when the Danes again infested England, three 
or four hundred years after, they made war on the 
descendants of their own ancestors^. From this 
near affinity, we might expect to discover a strong 
resemblance between both nations in their customs, 
manners, and even language ; and, in fact, we find 
them to differ no more than would naturally happen 
between a parent country and its own colonies, that 
had been severed in a rude uncivilized state, and had 
dropt all intercourse for three or four centuries : 
especially if we reflect that the colony here settled 
had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite in 
all respects to the ancient Paganism of the mother 
country ; and that even at first, along with the ori- 
ginal Angli, had been incorporated a large mixture 
of Saxons from the neighbouring parts of Germany ; 
and afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had 
come vast multitudes of adventurers from the more 
northern parts of Scandinavia. But all these were 
only different tribes of the same common Teutonic 
stock, and spoke only different dialects of the same 
Gothic language.^ 

From this sameness of original and similarity of 
manners, we might justly nave wondered, if a 
character, so dignified and distinguished among the 
ancient Danes, as the Scald or Bard, had been 
totally unknown or unregarded in this sister nation. 
And, indeed, this argument is so strong, and, at the 
same time, the early annals of the Anglo-Saxons 
are so scanty and defective (G), that no objections 
from their silence could be sufficient to overthrow 
it. For if these popular Bards were confessedly 
revered and admired in those very countries which 
the Anglo-Saxons inhabited before their removal 
into Britain, and if they were afterwards common 



• Vid, Chronic Savon, a Gfbion, p. 19, 13, 4to.— Bed. 
Hbt Eedea. a Smith, lib. I, c 15.—" Ealdaexe (Regioantiq. 
Saxonom] in eervice Cimbricie Cheraoneal, Holsauam pro- 
prie dictam Dithmarsiatn, Stormariam, et Wagriam, com- 
plectens." Annot. in Bed. a Smith, p. 51. Et vid. Cam- 
deni Britan. 

t " Anglia Vetru, hodie etiam Anglen, aita eat inter Sax- 
onei et Gfotes [Jatoi], habeas oppidnm capitale. . . Sleawick." 
Ethelwerd. lib. 1. 

t See Northern Antiquities, Ac vol. i. pa*. 7, S, 185, MO, 
200,101. 

i Ibid. Preface, p. SO. 



and numerous among the other descendants of the 
same Teutonic ancestors, can we do otherwise than 
conclude, that men of this order accompanied suet 
tribes as migrated hither ; that they afterwards sub 
sisted here, though, perhaps, with less splendou • 
than in the North ; ana that there never was wanting 
a succession of them to hand down the art, though 
some particular conjunctures may have rendered it 
more respectable at one time than another T And 
this was evidently the case. For though much 
greater honours seem to have been heaped upon 
the northern Scalds, in whom the characters of his- 
torian, genealogist, poet, and musician, were all 
united, than appear to have been paid to the Min- 
strels and Harpers (H) of the Anglo-Saxons, whose 
talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and di- 
vert ; while the Scalds professed to inform and in- 
struct, and were at once the moralists and theologues 
of their Pagan countrymen ; yet the Anglo-Saxon 
Minstrels continued to possess no small portion of 
publio favour; and die arts they professed were 
so extremely acceptable to our ancestors, that the 
word glee, which peculiarly denoted their art, con- 
tinues still in our own language to be of all others 
the most expressive of that popular mirth and jol- 
lity, that strong sensation of delight, which is felt 
by unpolished and simple minds (I). 

II. Having premised these general considerations, 
I shall now proceed to collect from history such par- 
ticular incidents as occur on this subject ; and, whe- 
ther the facts themselves are true or not, they are 
related by authors who lived too near the Saxon tunes, 
and had before them too many recent monuments of 
the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to know what was con- 
formable to the genius and manners of that people ; 
and therefore we may presume, that their relations 
prove at least the existence of the customs and habits 
they attribute to our forefathers before the conquest, 
whatever becomes of the particular incidents and 
events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall 
not want sufficient proofs to show that Minstrelsy 
and Song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons ; 
and that the professor of them here, if not quite so 
respectable a personage as the Danish ScalcL was yet 
highly favoured and protected, and continued still to 
enjoy considerable privileges. 

Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by 
the Saxons, an incident is recorded to have happened, 
which, if true, shows that the Minstrel or Bard was 
not unknown among this people ; and that their 
princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume 
that character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was 
elected king or leader of the Saxons in the room of 
Hengist*, was shut up in York, and closely besieged 
by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of 
Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to apprize 
him of a reinforcement which was coming from Ger- 
many. He had no other way to accomplish his 
design, but to assume the character of a Minstrel. 
Hetnerefore shaved his head and beard, and, dressing 
himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp 
in his hand. In this disguise, he walked up and 
down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the 
while upon his instrument as a Harper. By little 
and little he advanced near to the walls of the city, 
and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in 
the night drawn up by a rope. 

• See Rapin'a Hirt. by Tindal, foL 1781, vol. 1. p. SO, 
1 who placet the incident here related ondex the year 403. 



1 









AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



XT 



Although the above fact comes only from the su- 
gpiciouspenofGeoffryofMonmouth(K),thejudicious 
reader will not too hastily reject it ; because, if such 
a fact really happened, it could only be known to us 
through the medium of the British writers : for the 
first Saxons, a martial but unlettered people, had no 
historians of their own ; and Geoffry, with all his 
fables, is allowed to hare recorded many true events, 
that hare escaped other annalists. 

We do not however want instances of a less 
fabulous acra, and more indubitable authority : for 
later history affords us two remarkable (acts (L), 
which I think clearly show that the same arts of 
poetry and song, which were so much admired among 
the Danes, were by no means unknown or neglected 
in this sister nation: and that the privileges and 
honours which were so lavishly bestowed nipon the 
Northern Scalds, were not wholly withheld from 
the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels. 

Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to 
have excelled in music 9 , being desirous to learn the 
true situation of the Danish army, which had invaded 
his realm, assumed the dress and character of a Min- 
strel (M) : when, taking his harp, and one of the 
most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant f, 
(for in the early times it was not unusual for a 
minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp,) he 
went with the utmost security into the Danish camp ; 
and, though he could not but be known to be a 
Saxon by his dialect, the character he had assumed 
procured him a hospitable reception. He was ad- 
mitted to entertain the king at table, and staid among 
them long enough to contrive that assault which 
afterwards destroyed them. This was in the year 
878. 

About sixty years after}, a Danish king made use 
of the same disguise to explore the camp of our king 
Athelstan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed 
like a Minstrel (N), Aulafff, king of the Danes, went 
among the Saxon tents ; and, taking his stand near 
the king's pavilion, began to play, and was imme- 
diately admitted. There he entertained Athelstan 
and his lords with his singing and his music, and 
was at length dismissed with an honourable reward, 
though his songs must have discovered him to have 
been a Dane (O). Athelstan was saved from the 
consequences of this stratagem by a soldier, who had 
observed Aulaff bury the money which had been 
given him, either from some scruple of honour, or 
motive of superstition. This occasioned a discovery. 
Now if the Saxons had not been accustomed to 
have Minstrels of their own, Alfred's assuming so 
new and unusual a character would have excited 
suspicions among the Danes. On the other hand, 
if it had not been customary with the Saxons to 
show favour and respect to the Danish Scalds, 
Aulaff would not have ventured himself among them, 
especially on the eve of a battle (P). From the 
uniform procedure then of both these kings, we may 
fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment 
prevailed among both people, and that the Minstrel 
waa a privileged character with each. 

• By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). f Ibid. 

% Auno 038. Vid. Rapin, Ac. 

9 So 1 think the name shoold be printed, rather than 
Anlatf the more usual form, (the tame traces of the letters 
express both names in MS.,) AnUff being evidently the 
genuine northern name Ola it, or Olave, Lat. Olans. In the 
old romance of " Horn-Childe" (see vol. Hi. p. xxxiii.) the 
name of the king lib father is Allof, which Is evidently OUaf, 
with the vowels only transpos e d. 



But, if these facts had never existed, it can be 
proved from undoubted records, that the Minstrel 
was a regular and stated officer in the court of our 
Anglo-Saxon kings : for in Doomesday book, Jocu- 
lator Regis, the King's Minstrel, is expressly men- 
tioned in Gloucestershire ; in which county it should 
seem that he had lands assigned him for his main- 
tenance (Q). 

III. We have now brought the inquiry down to 
the Norman Conquest ; and as the Normans had 
been a late colony from Norway and Denmark, 
where the Scalds had arrived to the highest pitch of 
credit before Hollo's expedition into France, we can- 
not doubt but this adventurer, like the other northern 
princes, had many of these men in his train, who 
settled with him in his new duchy of Normandy, 
and left behind them successors in their art : so that, 
when his descendant, William the Bastard, invaded 
this kingdom in the following century*, that mode of 
entertainment could not but be still familiar with the 
Normans. And that this is not mere conjecture wis" 
appear from a remarkable fact, which shows that the 
arts of poetry and song were still as reputable 
among tie Normans in France, as they had been 
among their ancestors in the North ; and that the 
profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, was still 
aspired to by the most gallant soldiers. In William's 
army was a valiant warrior, named Taillefer, who 
was distinguished no less for the Minstrel-arts (R) 
than for his courage and intrepidity. This man 
asked leave of his commander to begin the onset, 
and obtained it He accordingly advanced before 
the army, and with a loud voice animated his coun- 
trymen with songs in praise of Charlemagne and 
Roland, and other heroes of France ; then xushing 
among the thickest of the English, and valiantly 
fighting, lost his life. 

Indeed the Normans were so early distinguished 
for their Minstrel-talents ; that an eminent French 
writer (S) makes no scruple to refer to them the 
origin of all modern poetry, and shows that they 
were celebrated for their songs near a century before 
the Troubadours of Provence, who are supposed to 
have led the way to the Poets of Italy, France, and 
Spainf. 

We see then that the Norman conquest was rather 
likely to favour the establishment of the Minstrel 
profession in this kingdom, than to suppress it ; and 
although the favour of the Norman conquerors would 
be probably confined to such of their own country- 
men as excelled in the Minstrel arts ; and in the 
first ages after the conquest no other songs would be 
listened to by the great nobility, but such as were 
composed in their own Norman French : yet as the 
great mass of the original inhabitants were not ex- 
tirpated, these could only understand their own 
native Gleemen or Minstrels ; who must still be 
allowed to exist, unless it can be proved that they 
were all proscribed and massacred, as, it is said, the 
Welsh Bards were afterwards by the severe policy of 
king Edward I. But this we know was not the 
case ; and even the cruel attempts of that monarch, 
aa we shall see below, proved ineffectual (S £). 



* Rolio was invested In his new dnchy of Normandy, 
AD. 013. William invaded England, A. D. 1066. 

t Vid. " Hist, des Troubadours, 3 torn." passim ; et vW 
Tableaux on Contcs do XH.etdn XIII. Stole, tradnii>, 
&c. avec des Notes historiqnes et critiques. Arc. par M I 
Grand. Paris, 1781." 5 torn. 12mo. 



:r.l 



En 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MlMsTKELft. 



The honours shown to the Norman or French 
Minstrels, by our princes and great barons, would 
uaturally have been imitated by their English vassals 
and tenants, even if no favour or distinction had 
ever been shown here to the same order of men in 
the Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we 
cannot doubt but the English harper and songster 
would, at least in a subordinate degree, enjoy the 
same kind of honours, and be received with similar 
respect among the inferior English gentry and popu- 
lace. I must be allowed therefore to consider them 
as belonging to the same community, as subordinate 
members at least of the same college ; and therefore, 
in gleaning the scanty materials for this slight history, 
I shall collect whatever incidents I can find relating 
to Minstrels and their art, and arrange them, as they 
occur in our own annals, without distinction ; as it 
will not always be easy to ascertain, from the slight 
mention of them by our regular historians, whether 
the artists were Norman or English. For it need 
not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature 
are but incidentally mentioned by our ancient anna- 
lists, and were fastidiously rejected by other grave 
and serious writers ; so that, unless they were acci- 
dentally connected with such events as became 
recorded in history, they would pass unnoticed 
through the lapse ot ages, and be as unknown to pos- 
terity as other topics relating to the private life and 
amusements of the greatest nations. 

On this account it can hardly be expected that we 
should be able to produce regular and unbroken 
annals of the Minstrel Art and its professors, or have 
sufficient information whether every Minstrel or Har- 
per composed himself, or only repeated, the songs 
he chanted. Some probably did the one, and some 
the other : and it would have been wonderful indeed 
if men whose peculiar profession it was, and who 
devoted their time ana talents to entertain their 
hearers with poetical compositions, were peculiarly 
deprived of all poetical genius themselves, and had 
been under a physical incapacity of composing those 
common popular rhimes which were the usual sub- 
jects of their recitation. Whoever examines any 
considerable quantity of these, finds them in style 
And colouring as different from the elaborate produc- 
tion of the sedentary composer at his desk or in his 
cell, as the rambling Harper or Minstrel was remote 
in his modes of life and habits of thinking from the 
retired scholar or the solitary monk (T). 

It is well known that on the Continent, whence 
our Norman nobles came, the Bard who composed, 
the Harper who played and sang, and even the Dancer 
and the Mimic, were all considered as of one com- 
munity, and were even all included under the com- 
mon name of Minstrels 4 . I must therefore be allowed 
the same application of the term here, without being 
expected to prove that every Binger composed, or 
every composer chanted, his own song ; much less 
that every one excelled in all the arts which were 
occasionally exercised by some or other of this 
fraternity. 

IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occur- 
rence which I have met with relating to this order 
of men is the founding of a priory and hospital by 
one of them : scil. the l'riory and Hospital of St. 
Bartholomew, in Sinithfield, London, by Itoyer or 



• See note (B) and (A a). 



Raherus the King's Minstrel, in the third year of 
King? Henry I., A. D. 1 102. He was the first prior 
of his own establishment, and presided over it to the 
time of his death (T 8). 

In the reign of King Henry II. we have upon 
record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey, a harper, who 
in 1180 received a corrody or annuity from tne abbey 
of Hide near Winchester ; and, as in the early times 
every harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt 
l.ut this reward was given to him for his music and 
his songs ; which, if they were for the solace of the 
monks there, we may conclude would be in the 
English language (U). 

Under his romantic son, King Richard I., the 
Minstrel profession seems to have acquired additional 
splendour. Richard, who was the great hero of 
chivalry, -was also the distinguised patron of Poets 
and Minstrels. He was himself of their number, 
and some of his poems are still extant*. They were 
no less patronised by bis favourites and chief officers. 
His chancellor, William Bishop of Ely, is expressly 
mentioned to have invited Singers and Minstrels 
from France, whom he loaded with reward; and 
they in return celebrated him as the most accom- 
plished person in the world (U 2). This high dis- 
tinction and regard, although confined perhaps in 
the first instance to Poets and Songsters of the French 
nation, must have had a tendency to do honour to 
poetry and song among all his subjects, and to 
encourage the cultivation of these arts among the 
natives ; as the indulgent favour shown by the mon- 
arch, or his great courtiers to the Provencal Trouba- 
dour, or Norman Rymour, would naturally be imitated 
by their inferior vassals to the English Gleeman or 
Minstrel. At more than a century after the conquest, 
the national distinctions must have begun to decline, 
and both the Norman and English languages would 
be heard in the houses of the great (U3); so that 

Srobably about this sera, or soon after, we are to 
ate that remarkable intercommunity and exchange 
of each other's compositions, which we discover to 
have taken place at some early period between the 
French and English Minstrels; the same set of 
phrases, the same species of characters, incidents, 
and adventures, and often the same identical stories, 
being found in the old metrical romances of both 
nations (V). 

The distinguished service which Richard received 
from one of his own minstrels in rescuing him from 
his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact, 
which ought to be recorded for the honour of poets 
and their art. This fact I shall relate in the follow- 
ing words of an ancient writerf. 

" The Englishmen were more than a whole yeare 
without hearing any tydings of their king, or in what 
place he was kept prisoner. He had trained up in 

* See a pathetic song of his In Mr. Wal pole's Catalogue 
of Royal Anthore, voL i. p. 9. The reader will find a trans- 
lation of it into modern French, in Hist. Literaire des Trou- 
badours, 1774, 3 torn. 12mo. See vol. i. p. 58, where some 
more of Richard's poetry is translated. In Dr. Barney's 
Hist, of Music, vol. ii. p. 238, is a poetical version of it in 
English. 

t Mous. Favine's Theatre of Honour and Knighthood, 
translated from the French. Lond. 16*23. ful. torn. ii. p. 40. 
An elegant relation of the same event (from the French ot 
Presid. Faucbet's Hecueil, &c.) may be seen in " Miscella- 
nies in prose and verse, by Anna Williams, Lond- 1766," 
4to. p. 46. — It will excite the reader's admiration to be 
informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were 
composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of 
sight. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



sru 



Domna vostra bentas 
Elas Delias faisws 
Eh belt oils amoros 
Els gens oors ben taillats 
Don Bieu empresenats 
De vostra amo qui mi lia. 



Si bcl trop aflansia 
Ja de Yo» non portral 
Que major honorai 
Sol en voira deinan 
Que sautra des bclsan 
Tot can de vos volria 



his court a Rimer or Minstrill*, called Blondell de 
Neale : who (so saith the manuscript of old Poesiesf, 
and an anncient manuscript French Chronicle) being 
so long without the sight of his lord, his life seemed 
wearisome to him, and he became confounded with 
melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe 
from the Holy Land ; but none could tell in what 
countrey he arrived. Whereupon this Blondel, 
resolving to make search for him in many countries, 
but be would heare some newes of him ; after expence 
of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a townej (by 
good hap) neere to the castell where his maister 
King Richard was kept Of his host he demanded 
to whom the castell appertained, and the host told 
him, that it belonged to the Duke of Austria. Then 
he enquired whether there were any prisoners therein 
detained or no: for alwayes he made such secret 
questionings wheresoever he came. And the hosts 
gave answer, there was one onely prisoner, but he 
knew not what he was, and yet he had bin detained 
there more then the space of a yeare. When Blondel 
heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he became 
acquainted with them of the castell, as Minstrels doe 
easily win acquaintance any whereti: but see the 
king he could not, neither understand that it was he. 
One day he sat directly before a window of the castell 
where King Richard was kept prisoner, and began to 
sing a song in French, wnich King Richard and 
Blondel had some time composed together. When 
King Richard heard the song, he knew it was Blondel 
that sung it : and when Blondel paused at halfe of 
the song, the king ' began the other half and com- 
pleted it||' Thus Blondel won knowledge of the 
king his maister, and returning home into England, 
made the barons of the countrie acquainted where 
the king was." This happened about the year 1193. 
The following old Provencal lines are given as 
the very original song^f ; which 1 shall accompany 
with an imitation offered by Dr. Burney, ii. 237. 



BLONDXI* 



Your beauty, lady fair. 
None views without delight t 
hut still so cold an air 
No passion can excite ; 
Yet this I patient see 
While all are shun' 4 like me. 



RICHARD. 



No nymph my heart canwound 
If favour she divide 
And smiles on all around 
Unwilling to decide .* 
rd rather hatred bear 
Than love with others share. 



• Favlne's words are, "Jongleur appelte Blondlaux de 
Neale." Paris, 1020. 4to, p. 1100. But Fancbet, who has 
given the same story, that expresses it, " Or ce roy ayant 
Donrri an Menestrel appelle Blondel," Ac. liv. 2. p. 92. 
" Des auciens Poetes Francois," — He is however, said to 
have been another Blondel, not Blondel (or Blondiavs) de 
Sesle; but this no way affects the circumstances of the story. 

t This the Anthor calls in another place, " An ancient 
MS. of old Poesies, written about those very times." — 
Prom this MS. Fa vine gives a good account or the taking 
of Richard by the Duke of Austria, who sold him to the 
Emperor. As for the MS. chronicle, it is evidently the 
same that supplied Fauchet with this story. See his *' Re- 
cneil de 1'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Francoise. Ryine, 
et Romans," &c. Par. 1581. 

\ Tribales. — " Retrudi eum prsecepit in Triballis : a qno 
carcere nollqs ante dies istoe exiviL* Lat Chron. of Otho 
of Austria : apud Favin. 

$ " Cimme Menestrels s'accointentlegcrement." Favine. 
Fauchet expresses it in the same manner. 

Q I give this passage corrected ; as the English translator 
of Favine's book appeared here to have mistaken the ori- 
ginal :— SciL. " Et quant Blondel eot dit la moitie de la 
Chanson, le roy Richard se prist a dire i'autre moitie et 
l'acheva." Favine, p. 1100. Fauchet has also expressed it 
in nearly the same words. Recneil, p. 03. 

U In a little romance or novel, entitled, " La Tour Tene- 
brcuses, et les Jours Lumiaeux, Contes Angloises, accompag- 
oes d'historiettes, et tires d'une ancienne chronique composee 
par Richard, surnoinme Coeur de Lion, Roy* d Angleterre," 
&c. Paris 1705. 12mo. — In the preface to this romance the 
Editor has given another song of Blondel de Neale, as also 
a copy of the song written by King Richard, and published 
by Mr. Walpole, mentioned above, yet the two last are not 
in Provencal like the sonnet printed here ; but in the old 
Pi en -h, called Language Roman. 



The access which Blondel so readily obtained in 
the privileged character of a Minstrel, is not the only 
instance upon record of the same nature (V 2;. 
In this very reign of King Richard I. the young 
heiress of D'Evereux, Earl of Salisbury, had been 
carried abroad and secreted by her French relations 
in Normandy. To discover the place of her con- 
cealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two 
years in exploring that province, at first under the 
disguise of a pilgrim ; till having found where she 
was confined, in order to gain admittance he assumed 
the dress and character of a harper, and being a 
jocose person exceedingly skilled in the " gests of 
the ancients* ;" so they called the romances and 
stories which were the delight of that age ; he was 
gladly received into the family. Whence he took an 
opportunity to carry off the young lady, whom he 
presented to the king ; and he bestowed her on his 
natural brother William Longespee, (son of fair 
Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of Salis- 
bury (V 3). 

The next memorable event which I find in history 
reflects credit on the English Minstrels : and this 
was their contributing to the rescue of one of the 
great Earls of Chester, when besieged by the Welsh. 
This happened in the reign of King John, and is 
related to this effect f. 

" Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his charter 
of foundation of St Werburg's Abbey in that city, 
had granted such a privilege to those who should 
come to Chester fair, that they should not be then 
apprehended for theft or any other misdemeanour, 
except the crime were committed during the fair. 
This special protection occasioning a multitude of 
loose people to resort to that fair, was afterwards of 
signal benefit to one of his successors. For Ranulph 
the last Earl of Chester, marching into Wales with 
a slender attendance, was constrained to retire to 
his castle of Roth elan, (or Rhuydland,) to which 
the Welsh forthwith laid siege. In this distress he 
sent for help to the Lord de Lacy, constable of 
Chester : ' Who, making use of the Minstrells of all 
sorts, then met at Chester fair : by the allurement 
of their musick, got together a vast number of such 
loose people as, by reason of the before specified privi- 
ledge, were then in that city ; whom he forthwith 
sent under the conduct .of Dutton, (his steward,) a 
gallant youth, who was also his son-in-law. The 
Welsh, alarmed at the approach of thb rabble, sup- 



* The words of the original, vis. " Citharisator homo Joco- 
■us in Gestis antiquorum valiie peritus," 1 conceive to give 
the precise idea of the ancient Minstrel. See note (\ x.) 
That Gesta was appropriated to romantic stories, see not* 
(I) Part IV (|.) 

t SeeDugdaie, Bar. i. 42, 101. who places i* after 13 
John, A. D. 1212. See alao Plot's Stattord«h. Camden'*- 
Britann. (Cheshire.) 



I*£" 



XfUl 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



posing them to be a regular body of armed and 
disciplined veterans, instantly raised the siege and 
retired." 

For this good service Ranulph is said to have 
granted to De Lacy, by charter, the patronage and 
authority over the Minstrels and the loose and 
inferior people : who, retaining to himself that of the 
lower artificers, conferred on Dutton the jurisdic- 
tion of the Minstrels and Harlots* : and under the 
descendants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed 
certain privileges, and protection for many ages. For 
even so late as the reign of Elisabeth, when this pro- 
fession had fallen into such discredit that it was con- 
sidered in law as a nuisance, the Minstrels under the 
jurisdiction of the family of Dutton, are expressly 
excepted out of all acts of parliament made for their 
suppression ; and have continued to be so excepted 
ever since (W). 

The ceremonies attending the exercise of this ju- 
risdiction are thus described by Dugdalet, as handed 
down to his time, viz. "That at midsummer fair 
there, all the Minstrels of that country resorting to 
Chester do attend the heir of Dutton, from his 
lodging to St. John's Church, (he being then accom- 
panied by many gentlemen of the countrey,) one of 
' the Minstrels' walking before him in a surcoat of his 
arms depicted on taffata ; the rest of his fellows pro- 
ceeding (two and two) and playing on their several 
sorts of musical instruments. And after divine 
service ended, give the like attendance on him back 
to his lodging; where a court being kept by his 
[Mr. Dutton 's] steward, and all the Minstrels formally 
called, certain orders and laws are usually made for 
the better government of that society, with penalties 
on those who transgress." 

In the same reign of King John we have a remark- 
able instance of a Minstrel, who to his other talents 
superadded the character of soothsayer, and by his 
skill in drugs and medicated potions was able to 
rescue a knight from imprisonment. This occurs in 
Leland's Narrative of the Gestes of Guarine (or 
Warren) and his sons, which he " excerptid owte of 
an old Englisch boke yn rymef," and is as follows : 

Whitington Castle in Shropshire, which together 
with the coheiress of the original proprietor had been 
won in a solemn turnament by the ancestor of the 
Guarinest, had in the reign of King John been seized 
by the Prince of Wales, and was afterwards possessed 
by Morice, a retainer of that prince, to whom the 
kmg, out of hatred to the true heir Fulco txuarine, 
(with whom he had formerly had a quarrel at chess jj,) 
not only confirmed the possession, but also made him 

Sivernor of the marches, of which Fulco himself had 
e custody in the time of King Richard. The 
Guarines demanded justice of the long, but obtaining 



• See the ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary. (Art. 
Minstrel.) 

t Bar. I. p. 101. 

I inland's Collectanea, voL 1. pages 201, 200, 207. 

$ Tbia oW feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the knight 
who should vanquish all bia opponents in solemn contest, etc 
appears to be burlesqued In the Turnament of Totenham, 
as Is well observed by the learned author, 
of Remarks, Sec In Gent Mag. for July, 1794, p. 013. 

|| "John, sun to King Henry, and Fulco fellc at variance 
at Chestes [r. Chease] ; and John brake Fulco ['a] hed with 
the chest horde ; and then Fulco gave him such a blow, that 
he had almost killid hym." (Let CoIL i. p.204.) A curious 
picture of courtly manners in that age 1 Notwithstanding 
this fray, we read in the next paragraph, that " King Henry 
dubbid Fulco ft 3 of bis bretherne Knightes at Winchester/' 
Ibid. 



no gracious answer, renounced their allegiance and 
fled into Bretagne. Returning into England after 
various conflicts, "Fulco resortid to one John of 
Raumpavne, a Sothsayer and Jocular and Minstrelle, 
and made hym his spy to Morice at Whitington." 
The privileges of this character we have already 
seen, and John so well availed himself of them, that 
in consequence of the intelligence which he doubtless 
procured, " Fulco and his brethrene laide waite for 
Morice, as he went toward Salesbyri, and Fulco ther 
woundid hym : and Bracy," a knight who was their 
friend and assistant, " cut of Morice['s] hedde." 
This Sir Bracy being in a subsequent rencounter sore 
wounded, was taken and brought to King John ; from 
whose vengeance he was however rescued by this 
notable Minstrel ; for " John Rampayne founde the 
meanes to cast them, that kepte Bracy, into a deadelv 
slepe ; and so he and Bracy cam to Fulco to v Whir- 
ington," which on the death of Morice had been 
restored to him by the Prince of Wales. As no fur- 
ther mention occurs of the Minstrel, I might h re 
conclude this narrative ; but I shall just add that 
Fulco was obliged to flee into France, where, assum- 
ing the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished himself 
in justs and tournaments ; and, after various roman- 
tic 'adventures by sea and land ; having in the true 
style of chivalry rescued " certayne ladies owt of 
prison ;" he finally obtained the king's pardon, and 
the quiet possession of Whitington Castle. 

In the reign of King Henry III., we have mention 
of Master Ricard the King's Harper, to whom in his 
thirty-sixth year MS52) that monarch gave not only 
forty shillings ana a pipe of wine, but also a pipe of 
wine to Beatrice his wife*. The title of Maguter, or 
Master piven to this Minstrel deserves notice, and 
shows his respectable situation. 

V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so necessary an 
attendant on a royal personage, that Prince Edward 
(afterwards King Edward I.) in his crusade to the 
Holy Land, in 127 1 , was not without his Harper : who 
must have been officially very near his person j as 
we are told by a contemporary historiant, that, in 
the attempt to assassinate that heroic prince, when 
he had wrested the poisoned knife out of the Sara- 
sen's hand, and killed him with his own weapon ; 
the attendants, who had stood apart while he was 
whispering to their master, hearing the struggle, ran 
to his assistance, and one of them, to wit his Harper, 
seizing a tripod or trestle, struck the assassin on the 
head and beat out his brainsj. And though the 
prince blamed him for striking the man after he was 
dead, yet his near access shows the respectable situa- 
tion of this officer ; and his affectionate seal should 
have induced Edward to entreat his brethren the 
Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity. 



• Barney's Hist il. p. 3AS.— «ot. Pip. An. 30, H. III. 
" Bt in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro Ricardo Ci- 
tharistae Regis, xl. soL per br. Reg. Et in uno dolio empto 
4c dato Beatrici uaorl ejufdem Ricardi." 

t Waller Hemmingford, (vizit temp. Edw. I.) in Chronic 
cap. 35, inter V. Hist. Ang. Scriptores, vol. IL Oxon. 1087 
foL pag. Ml. 

X " Accurrentes ad hssc Minis' ri ejus, qui a longe steterunt, 
Invenerunt euro [scil. Nuntium] in terra mortuum, ct appre- 
hendit unus eorum tripodem, scilicet (Hthareda «ww, & per- 
cussit eum in capite, et eti'undit cerebrum ej us. Incre pavitqoe 
eum Edwardusquod homiaeni mortuum percuasisse . Ibid. 
These If iniatri must have been upon a very confidential foot- 
ing, as it appears above in the same chapter, that they bad 
been made acquainted with the contents of the letters which 
the assassin had delivered to the prince from his master. 



. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



XIX 



Whatever was the extent of this great monarch's 
severity towards the professors of music and of song 
in Wales ; whether the executing by martial law 
such of them as fell into his hands was only daring 
the heat of conflict, or was continued afterwards with 
more systematic rigour* ; yet in his own court the 
Minstrels appear to have been highly favoured: 
for when, in 1306, he conferred the order of 
knighthood on his son and many others of the young 
nobility, a multitude of Minstrels were introduced to 
inrite and induce the new knights to make some mi- 
litary vow (X). And 

Under the succeeding reign of King Edward II., 
such extensive privileges were claimed by these men, 
and by dissolute persons assuming their character, 
that it became a matter of public grievance, and was 
obliged to be reformed by an express regulation in 
A. D. 1315 (Y). Notwithstanding which, an inci- 
dent is recorded in the ensuing year, which shows 
that Minstrels still retained the liberty of entering at 
will into the royal presence, and haa something pe- 
culiarly splendid in their dress. It is thus related by 
Stow (Z). 

" In tl e year 1316, Edward the Second did solem- 
nize his feast of Pentecost at Westminster, in the 
great hah where sitting royally at the table with 
his peers about him, there entered a woman adorned 
like a Minstrel, sitting on a great horse trapped, as 
Minstrels then used ; who rode round about the 
tables, shewing pastime ; and at length came up to 
the kWs table, and laid before him a letter, and 
forthwith turning her horse saluted every one and 
departed." .The subject of this letter was a remon- 
strance to the king on the favours heaped by him on 
his minions, to the neglect of his knights and faithful 
servants. 

The privileged character of a Minstrel was em- 
ployed on this occasion, as sure of gaining an easy 
admittance ; and a female the rather deputed to as- 
sume it, that, in case of detection, her sex might 
disarm the king's resentment. This is offered on a 
supposition that she was not a real Minstrel ; for 
there should seem to have been women of this pro- 
fession (A a), as well as of the other sex ; and: no 
accomplishment is so constantly attributed to females, 
by our ancient bards, as their singine to. and playin? 
on, the harp (A a 8). 6 6' r J * 

In the fourth year of King Richard II., John of 
Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Staffordshire, a court 
of Minstrels, similar to that annually kept at Ches- 
ter and which, like a court-leet or court baron, 
had a legal jurisdiction, with full power to re- 
ceive suit and service from the men of this profession 
within five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and 
determine their controversies ; and to apprehend and 
arrest such of them as should refuse to appear at the 
said court annually held on the 16th of August. 
For this they had a charter, by which they were em- 
Dowered to appoint a King of the Minstrels with 
tour officers to preside over them (B b). These 
were every year elected with great ceremony: 
me whole form of which, as observed in 1680, is 
described by Dr. Plot* : in whose time however they 



« i, 8 * - .. ?^!. 0< fc "• "^ lhe Htat - of theGwedir Family In 
"Miscellanies by the Hon. Daines Harrington," 1781, 4to. 
p. 386; who in the Laws, Ac. of this monarch conld And no 
instances of severity against the Webb. See his observations 
on the Statutes, 4to. 4th. edit. p. 358. 
♦ Hist, cf Staffordshire, ch 10, $ 00—70, p. 433 et seqq. of 



appear to have lost their singing talents, and to 
have confined all their skill to " wind and string; 

* m it 

music*. 

The Minstrels seem to have been in many respects 
upon the same footing as the heralds : and the King 
of the Minstrels, like the king at arms, was both here 
and on the Continent an usual officer in the courts of 
princes. Thus we have in the reign of King Ed- 
ward I. mention of a King Robert and others. And 
in 16 Edward II. is a grant to William de Morlee 
"the King*' s Minstrel, styled Rcu de North\," of 
houses which had belonged to another king, John le 
Boteler (B b £). Rymer hath also printed a licence 
granted by King Richard II. in 1387, to John Caumz, 
die King of his Minstrels, to pass the seas, recom- 
mending him to the protection and kind treatment of 
all his subjects and allies^. 

In the subsequent reign of King Henry IV. we 
meet with no particulars relating to the Minstrels in 
England, but we find in the Statute Book a severe 
law passed against their brethren the Welsh Bards ; 
whom our ancestors could not distinguish from their 
own Rimoun Minittrah ; for by these names they 
describe them (B b S). This act plainly shews, 
that far from being extirpated by the rigorous policy 
of King Edward I., this order of men were still able 
to alarm the English government, which attributed 
to them " many diseases and mischiefs in Wales," 
and prohibited their meetings and contributions. 

When his heroic son Kmg Henry V. was pre- 
paring his great voyage for France, in 1415, an 
express order was given for his Minstrels, fifteen in 
number to attend him$ : and eighteen are afterwards 
mentioned, to each of whom he allowed xii <L a day, 
when that sum must have been of more than ten times 
the value it is at present||. Yet when he entered 
London in triumph after the battle of Agincourt, he, 
from a principle of humility, slighted the pageants 
and verses which were prepared to hail his return ; 
and, as we are told by Holingshedf , would not suffer 
" any dities to be made and song by Minstrels, of r is 
glorious victorie ; for that he would whollie have the 
praise and thankes altogether given to God" (Bb4). 
But this did not proceed from any disregard for the 
professors of musio or of song ; for at the feast of 
Pentecost, which he celebrated in 1416, having the 



which see Extracts in Sir J. Hawkins's Hist of Music, vol. 
ii. p. 84; and Dr. Barney's Hist. vol. ii. p. 380 et seqq. 

N. B. The barbarous diversion of ball-rauning was no 
part of the original institution, Ac. as is fully proved by the 
Rev. Dr. Pegge, in Archseologia, vol. ii. no. xlii. page 80. 

• See the charge given by the Steward, at the time ol 
the election, in Plot's Hist, ubi supra ; and in Hawkins, p. 
07. Barney, p. 383-4. 

t So among ihe Heralds Norrev was anciently styled Boy 
d'Arme* de North. ( Anstis, ii. 300.) And the K ings at Aruus 
in general w< re originally called Rege* Heroldorum, (Ibid, 
p. 30*,) as tr ese were R*ge* MinttraUorum. 

% Rymer'i Feeders, torn. vil. p. 683. 

4 Rjovr, ix.955. B Ibid. p. MO. 

* See nis Chronicle, sub anno HIS, p. 1170. He also 

Eives this other instance of the king's great modesty, "that 
e would not suffer his helmet to be carried with him, and 
shewed to the people, that they might behold the dintes and 
cuttes whiche appeared in the same, of such blowes and stripes 
as bee received the daye of the battelL" Ibid. Vid. T. de 
Elmham, c. 19, p. 72. 

The prohibition against vain and secular songs would pro- 
bably not include that inserted in Series the Second Book I. 
No. V., which would be considered as a hymn. The origins, 
notes engraven on a plate at the end of the voL may be seea 
reduced and set to score in Mr. Stafford Smith's " Collection 
of English Songs for three and four Voices/' and In Dr. 
Barney's Hist, of Music, U. p. 384. 



XX 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



Emperor and the Duke of Holland for his guests, he 
ordered rich gowns for sixteen of his Minstrels, of 
which the particulars are preserved by Rymer*. 
And having before his death orally granted an an- 
nuity of one hundred shillings to each of his Minstrels, 
the grant was confirmed in the first year of his son 
King Henry VI. A. D. 1423, and payment ordered 
out of the Exchequcrf. 

The unfortunate reign of King Henry VI., affords 
no occurrences respecting our subject ; hut in his 
34th year, A.D. 1456, we have in RymerJ a com- 
mission for impressing boys or youths, to supply 
vacancies by death among the King's Minstrels : in 
which it is expressly directed that they shall be 
eJegant in their limbs, as well as instructed in the 
Minstrel art, wherever they can be found, for the 
solace of his majesty. 

In the following reign, King Edward IV., (in his 
9th year, 1469,) upon a complaint that certain rude 
husbandmen and artificers of various trades had 
assumed the title and livery of the King's Minstrels 
and under that colour and pretence had collected 
money in diverse parts of the kingdom, and committed 
other disorders, tne king grants to Walter Haliday, 
Marshal, and to seven others his own Minstrels 
whom he names, a charter^, by which he creates, or 
4*ather restores, a fraternity or perpetual gild (such 
as, he understands, the brothers and sisters of the 
fraternity of Minstrels had in times past) to be 
governed by a Marshall appointed for life, and by 
two Wardens to be chosen annually ; who are im- 
powered to admit brothers and sisters into the said 
gild, and are authorized to examine the pretensions 
of all such as affected to exercise the Minstrel pro- 
fession ; and to regulate, govern, and punish them 
throughout the realm (those of Chester excepted). — 
This seems to have some resemblance to the Earl 
Marshal's court among the heralds, and is another 
proof of the great amdity and resemblance which 
the Minstrels bore to the members of the College of 
Arms. 

It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, whose name 
occurs as marshal in the foregoing charter, had been 
retained in the service of the two preceding monarchs 
King Henry V.|| and Vlf. Nor is this the first 
time he is mentioned as Marshal of the King's Min- 
strels, for in the third year of this reign, 1464, 
he had a grant from King Edward of 10 marks 
per annum during life, directed to him with that 
title** . 

But besides their Marshal we have also in this 
reign mention of a Sergeant of the Minstrels, who 
upon a particular occasion was able to do his royal 
master a singular service, wherein his confidential 
situation and ready access to the king at all hours is 
very apparent : for "as he [King Edward IV.] was 
in the north contray in the monneth of Septembre, 
as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alexander Carlile, 
that was Sariaunt of the Mynstrellis, cam to him in 
grete hast, and badde hym aryse for he hadde ene- 



• Tom. Ix. 336. 

t Rymer, torn. x. 287. They are mentioned by name, 
being ten in number : one of them was named Thomas 
Chatterton. 

t Tom. xl. 875. 

% 8ee it in Rymer, torn. xi. 642, nnd ia Sir J. Hawkins, 
rol. iv. p. 366. Note. The above Charter is recited in letters 

£ stent of King Charles 1. Id July, f'A Anno Regni,) for a 
orporation of Musicians, &c. in Westminster, which may 
be seen ibid. 
H Rymer, ix. 253. T Ibid. xi. 375 •• Thirl xi. "> 



myes cummyng for to take him, the which were 
within vi. or vii. mylis, of the which tydinges the 
king gretely marveylid, &c.*" This happened in 
the same year, 1469, wherein the king granted or 
confirmed the charter for the fraternity or gild above 
mentioned ; yet this Alexander Carlile is not one of 
the eight Minstrels to whom that charter is directed f. 
The same charter was renewed by King Henry 
VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his then marshal, 
and to seven others his Minstrels J: and on the 
death of Gilman, he granted in 1529 this office of 
Marshal of his Minstrels to Hugh Wodehouse$, 
whom I take to have borne the office of his serjeant 
over them||. 

VI. In all the establishments of royal and noble 
households, we find an ample provision made for the 
Minstrels ; and their situation to have been both ho- 
nourable and lucrative. In proof of this it is suffi- 
cient to refer to the household book of the Earl of 
Northumberland, A.D. 1 512 (C c). And the rewards 
they received so frequently recur in ancient writers 
that it is unnecessary to crowd the page with them 
here (C c *). 

The name of Minstrel seems however to have been 
gradually appropriated to the musician only, espe- 
cially in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries ; yet 
we occasionally meet with applications of the term in 
its more enlarged meaning, as including the Singer, 
if not the composer, of heroic or popular rhymesf . 

In the time of Kimg Henry VIII., we find it to 
have been a common entertainment to hear verses 
recited, or moral speeches learned for that purposes 
by a set of men who got their livelihood by repeating 
them, and who intruded without ceremony into au 
companies ; not only in taverns, but in the houses 
of tne nobility themselves. This we learn from 
Erasmus, whose argument led him only to describe 
a species of these men who did not sing their com- 

Sositions ; but the others that did, enjoyed, without 
oubt, the same privileges (D d). 
For even long after, in the reign of Queen Eliza- 
beth, it was usual " in places of assembly" for the 
company tr be " desirous to heare of old adventures 
and valiaunces of noble knights in times past, as 
those of King Arthur, and his knights of the round 
table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke 
and others like" in " short and long meetres, and by 
breaches or divisions, [sc. Fits**] to be morecommo- 
diously sung to the harpe" as the reader may tw- 
in formed by a courtly writer, in l589tt< Who him- 
self had " written for pleasure a little briefe romance 



* Here nnfortnnately ends a enrioas fragment, (an. 9 E 
IV.) ad calcem Sprotti Chron. Ed. Hearne. Oxon. 17 19, 8vo. 
Vid. T. Walton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Note (c). 

f Rjmer, xi. 642. % Ibid,xiii. 705. 

i Rymer, torn. xiv. 2, 93. 

(J So I am inclined to understand the term Semens noeter 
Hugo ffodefious, in the original grant. (See Rymer obi 
supra.) It is needless to observe that Servient expressed a 
serjeaut as well as a servant. If this interpretation of .SVr- 
vienM be allowed, it will account for his placing Wodehouat- 
at the head of his gild, althongh he had not been one of tin 
eight minstrels who had had the general direction. The 
Serjeant of his Minstrels, we may presume, was next indig- 
nity to the Marshal, although he had no share in the govern 
ment of the gild. 

^ See below, and note (G g). 

•• See vol. ii. page 174. 

tf Puttenbam in his " Arte of English Poesie," 1589, 4to 
i> 33- 






AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT IV1INSTREL8. 






or historicall ditty. . . .of the Isle of Great Britaine" 
in order to contribute to such entertainment. And 
he subjoins this caution : " Such as have not pre- 
monition h«-reof," (viz. that his poem was written in 
short metre, &c. to be sung to the harp in such 
places of assembly,) " and consideration of the causes 
alledged, would peradventure reprove and disgrace 
every romance, or short historicall ditty, for that 
they be not written in long meeters or verses Alex- 
anarins," which constituted tLe prevailing versifi- 
cation among the poets of that age, and which no 
one now can endure to read. 

And that the recital of such romances sung to the 
harp was at that time the delight of the common 
people, we are told by the same writer*, who men- 
tions that " common rimers," were fond of using 
rimes at abort distances, " in small and popular 
musickes song by these Cantabanqui" [the said com- 
mon rimers] " upon benches and barrels heads," &c. 
" or else by blind Harpers or such like Taverne 
Minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat ; and 
their matter being for the most part stories of old 
time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis 
of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell, 
and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old 
romances, or historicall rimes,' 1 &c. " also they be 
used in carols and rounds, and such light or lasci- 
vious poemes, which are commonly more commo- 
diously uttered by these butfbns, or vices in playes, 
then by any other person. Such were the rimes of 
Skelton (usurping the name of a Poet Laureat) being 
in deede out a rude railing rimer, and all his doings 
ridiculousf." 

But although we find here that the Minstrels had 
lost much of their dignity, and were sinking into 
contempt and neglect : yet that they still sustained 
a character for superior to any thing we can conceive 
at present of the singers of old ballads, I think, may 
be inferred from the following representation. 

When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at Kil- 
lingworth Castle by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, 
among the many devices and pageants which were 
contrived for her entertainment, one of the personages 
introduced was to have been that of an ancient 
Minstrel ; whose appearance and dress are so minutely 
described by a writer there present^, and gives us so 
distinct an idea of the character, that I shall quote 
the passage at large (E e.) 

" A person very meet seemed he for the purpose, 
of a xlv years old, apparelled partly as he would 
himself. His cap off: his head seemly rounded 
tonsterwise$ : fair kembed, that with a sponge 
daintily dipt in a little capon's greace was finely 
smoothed, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. 
His beard smugly shaven : and yet his shirt after 
the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and 
glistering like a pair of new shoes, marshalled in 
good order with a setting stick, and strut, that every 
ruff stood up like a wafer. A side [L e. long] gown 
of Kendal green, after the freshness of the year now, 



* Pnttenbam, Ac. p. 69. 

t Puitenhain, &c. p. 00. 

\ See a very carious " Letter: whearin, part of the enter- 
tainment nntoo the Queens Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl, 
in Warwick Sheer, in this soomers progress 1575, is signi- 
fied," Sec. bl. 1. 4to. vid p. 40 & scqq. (Printed in Nichols's 
Collection of Qoetn Elisabeth's Progresses. &c. in two vols. 
4to.) We have not followed above the peculiar and affected 
orthography of this writer, who was named Ro. Laneham, or 
rather Langharo ; see p. 84. 

$ I suppose " tonsure- wise" after the manner of the Monks. 



gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened 
afore with a white clasp and a keeper close up to the 
chin ; hut easily, for heat to undo when he list 
Seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle : from that a 
pair of capped Sheffield knives hanging a two sides. 
Out of his bosom drawn forth a lappet of his napkin* 
edged with a blue lace, and marked with a true love, 
a heart, and a D for Damian, for he was but a bat* 
chelor yet. 

" His gown had side [i. e, long] sleeves down to 
mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and 
lined with white cotton. His doublet-sleeves of 
black worsted : upon them a pair of poynetsf of 
tawny chainlet laced along the wrist with blue 
threaden points* a weak towards the hand of fustian- 
s-napes. A pair of red neather stocks. A pair of 
pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for 
corns : not new indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, 
and shining as a shoing horn. 

" About liis neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle. 
His harp in good grace dependent before him. His 
wrest$ tyed to a green lace and hanging by. Under 
the gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewterf, 
for) silver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that 
travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs 
and worshipful mens houses. From his chain hung 
a scutcheon, with metal and colour, resplendant upon 
his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington. " 

This Minstrel is described as belonging to that 
village. I suppose such as were retained bv noble 
families wore the arms of their patrons hanging 
down by a silver chain as a kind of badge)). From 
the expression of Squire Minstrel above, we may 
conclude there were other inferior orders, as Yeomen 
Minstrels, or the like. 

This Minstrel, the author tells us a little below, 
"after three lowly courtsies, cleared his voice with a 
hem. . . .and. . . .wiped his lips with the hollow of 
his hand for 'filling his napkin, tempered a string or 
two with his wrest, and after a little warbling on his 
harp for a prelude, came forth with a solemn song, 
warranted for story out of King Arthurs acts, ficc." 
— This song the reader will find printed in this 
work. 

Towards the end of the sixteenth century this class 
of men had lost all credit, and were sunk so low in 
the public opinion, that in the 39th year of Elizabeth f , 
a statute was passed by which " Minstrels, wandering 
abroad," were included among " rogues, vagabonds, 
and sturdy beggars," and were adjudged to be pu- 



'■ 



• I. e. hankerchief. So in Shakspear's Othello, passim. 

♦ Perhaps, points. ..... 

t The key, or screw, with which he tuned his harp. 

I The reader will remember that this was not a real Min- 
strel, but only one personating that characUr ; his ornaments 
therefore were only such as outwardly represented those of a 
real Minstrel. , . 

I As the House of Northumberland had anciently three 
Minstrels attending on them in their castles in Yorkshire, so 
they still retain three in their service in Northumberland, 
who wear the badge of the family, (a silver crescent on the 
right arm,) and are thus distributed, via. One for the barony 
of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Rothbur*. These 
attend the court lects and fairs held for the lord, and pay 
their annual suit and sesvice at Alnwick Castle; their instru- 
ment being the ancient Northumberland bagpipe (very 
different in form and execution from that of the Scots; being 
smaller, and blown, not with the breath, but with a small 
pair of bellows). 

This with many other venerable customs of the ancient 
Lord Percys, was revived by their ill ustrious re presenUUvea 
the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. 

f Anno Dom. 1597. Vid Pult. Stat, p. 1110, 30° BUS. 



( 



1 



xxn 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



rushed as such. This act seems to have put an end 
to the profession (E e 2). 

VII. I cannot conclude this account of the ancient 
English Minstrels, without remarking that they are 
most of them represented to have been of the North 
of England. There is scarce an old historical song or 
ballad (F f) wherein a Minstrel or Harper appears, 
but he is characterized by way of eminence to have 
been " of the North Countrye :" and indeed the pre- 
valence of the northern dialect in such compositions, 
shews that this representation is real*. On the other 
hand the scene or the finest Scottish ballads is laid 
in the south of Scotland ; which should seem to 
have been peculiarly the nursery of Scottish Minstrels, 
In the old song of Maggy Lawder, a piper is asked, 
by way of distinction, " come se frae the Border ff 
1 he martial spirit constantly kept up and exercised 
near the frontier of the two kingdoms, as it furnished 
continual subjects for their songs, so it inspired the 
inhabitants of the adjacent counties on both sides 
with the powres of poetry. Besides, as our southern 



* Gi aldus Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King Henry 
II, me tioos a very extraordinary habit or propensity, which 
then pr vailed in the North of England, beyond the Homber, 
for " symphonious harmony" or tinging " in two parts, the 
one murmuring in the base, and the other warbling in the 
acute or treble." (I ate Dr. Barney's Version* vol. ii. p, 
108.) This be describe*, at practised by their very children 
from the cradle ; and he derives it from the Banes (So Dad 
signifies in oar old writers] and Norwegians, who long over- 
ran and in effect new -peopled the Northern parts ot England, 
where alone this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cam- 
briss Descriptio, cap. 18. and in Barney abi supra.) — Glral- 
das is probably right as to the origin or derivation of this 
practice, for the Danish and Icelandic Scalds had carried 
the arts of Poetry and Singing to great perfection at the 
time the Danish settlements were made in the North. And 
it will also help to account for the superior skill and fame of 
oar northern Minstrels and Harpers afterwards : who had 
preserved and transmitted the arts of their Scaldic ances- 
tors. See Northern Antiquities, vol. i. c 13, p. 380, and 
Pive Pieces of Runic Poetry, 1703, 8vo. — Compare the 
original passage in Giraldos, as given by Sir John Hawkins, 
I. 406, and by Dr. Barney, ii. 108, who are both at a loss to 
account for this peculiarity, and therefore doubt the fact 
The credit of Giraldus, which hath been attacked by some 
partial and bigoted antiquaries, the reader will find defended 
in that learned and curious work, " Antiquities of Ireland, by 
Edward Ledwich, LL.D. etc. Dublin,] 790," 4to, p. 907 & seqq. 

t This line being quoted from memory, and given as old 
Scottish Poetry is now usu illy printed, would have been 
readily corrected by the copy published in " Scottish Songs, 
1794, * vols, 12mo. i. p. '267, thus, (though apparently cor- 
rupted from the Scottish Idiom,) 

" Live you npo* the Border f * 
had not all confidence been destroyed by its being altered in 
the " Historical Essay" prefixed to that publication (p. ex.) to 

" Ye live upo' the Border." 
the better to favour a position, that many of the pipers 
" might live upon the border, for the conveniency of attend- 
ing fairs, &c. in both kingdoms." Bat whoever is acquainted 
with that part of England, knows that on the English 
frontier, rude mountains and barren wastes reach almost 
across the island, scarcely inhabited by any but solitary 
shepherds ; many of whom durst nut venture into ihe oppo • 
site border on account of the ancient feuds and subsequent 
disputes concerning the Debatable Lands, which separated 
the boundaries of the two kingdoms, as well hb the estates 
of the two great families of Percy and Douglas ; till these 
disputes were settled, not many years since, by arbitration 
between the present Lord Douglas and the late Duke and 
Duchess of Northumberland. 



I 



metropolis must have been ever the scene of novelty 
and refinement, the northern countries, as being 
most distant, would preserve their ancient manners 
longest, and of course the old poetry, in which those 
manners are peculiarly described. 

The reader will observe in the more ancient bal- 
lads of this collection, a cast of style and measure 
very different from that of contemporary poets of a 
higher class ; many phrases and idioms, which the 
Minstrels seem to have appropriated to themselves, 
and a very remarkable licence of varying the accent 
of words at pleasure, in order to humour the flow of 
the verse, particularly m the rhimes ; as 

Countrie harpir battel morning 
Lathe v singer damsel loving, 
instead of country, Tody, harper, linger, &c. — This 
liberty is but sparingly assumed by the classical 
poets of the same age ; or even by the latter com- 
posers of heroical ballads ; I mean, by such as 
professedly wrote for the press. For it is to be ob- 
served, that so long as the Minstrels subsisted, they 
seem never to have designed their rhimes for lite- 
rary publication, and probably never committed them 
to writing themselves : what copies are preserved of 
them were doubtless taken down from their mouths. 
But as the old Minstrels gradually wore out, a new 
race of ballad-writers succeeded, an inferior sort of 
minor poets, who wrote narrative songs merely for 
the press. Instances of both may be found in the 
reign of Elizabeth. The two latest pieces in the 
genuine strain of the old minstrelsy that I can 
discover, are No. III. and IV. of Book III. 
Series the Fiist. Lower than these I cannot trace 
the old mode of writing. 

The old Minstrel ballads are in the northern dia- 
lect, abound with antique words and phrases, are 
extremely incorrect, and run into the utmost license 
of metre ; they have also a romantio wildness, and 
are in the true spirit of chivalry. The other sort 
are written in ezacter measure, have a low or sub- 
ordinate correctness, sometimes bordering on the 
insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic : these 
are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a more 
modern phraseology, and are commonly descriptive 
of more modern manners. — To be sensible of the 
difference between them, let the reader compare in 
Series the First, No. III. of Book III, with No. XI. 
of Book II. 

Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign (as 
is mentioned above) the genuine old minstrelsy 
seems to have been extinct, and thenceforth the 
ballads that were produced were wholly of the 
latter kind, and these came forth in such abundance, 
that in the reign of James I, they began to be col- 
lected into little miscellanies, under the name of 
garlands, and at length to be written purposely for 
such collections (F f 2). 

P.S. By way of Postscript, should follow here the 
discussion of the question whether the term Minstrels 
uxts applied in English to Singers, and Composers of 
Songs, fyc, or confined to Musicians only. But it is re- 
served for the concluding note (G g). 



-J 



■*— 



NOTES AJND ILLUSTRATIONS 



BSFEBRSD TO IN THJ 



FOREGOING ESSAY. 



(A) The Minstrels, &c The word Minstrel 
does not appear to hare been in use here before the 
Norman Conquest ; whereas, it had long before that 
time been adopted in France*. — Menestrel, so early 
as the eighth century, was a title given to the Maestro 
di CapeUa of King Pepin, the father of Charlemagne ; 
and afterwards to the Coryphaeus, or leader of any 
band of musicians. [Vid. Burner's Hist of Music, 
ii. 268.] This term menestrel, menestrier, was thus 
expressed in Latin, ministeUus, tnuustreUut, minis- 
trallus, menestertllus, &c [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange 
et Supplem.1 

Menage derives the French words above men- 
tioned from ministerialis, or mbnsteriarius, barbarous 
Latin terms, used in the middle ages to express a 
workman or artificer, (still called in Languedoc 
ministral,) as if these men were styled Artificers or 
PutFORMsns by way of excellence. [Vid. Diction. 
Rtym.] But the origin of the name is given, per- 
haps more truly, by Du Cange : " Mikistelli,. . . . 
quos vulgo menestnux vel menestriers appellamus, 
juod minoribus aulas ministris accenserentur." [Gloss, 
iv. p. 769.] Accordingly, we are told, the word 
" minuter*' is sometimes used " pro ministeUus." [Ibid.] 
and an instance is produced which I shall insert at 
large in the next paragraph. 

Minstrels sometimes assisted at divine service, as 
appears from the record of the 9th of Edw. IV. 
quoted above in p. xix. by which Halidayand others 
are erected into a perpetual gild, &c. See the 
original in Rymer, xi. 642. By part of this record 
it is recited to be their duty, " to pray (exorare : 
which it is presumed they did by assisting in the 
ch.ant, and musical accompaniment, &c.) in the king's 
cbapel, and particularly for the departed souls of the 
king and queen when they shall die, &c." — The 
same also appears from the passage in the Supplem. 
to Du Cange, alluded to above. " Minister .... pro 
ministeUus joculatorf. — VetusCeremoniale MS. B.M. 

* The Anglo-Saxon and primary English name for tbit 
character wat Gleman [see below, note (I) wet. 1.] so that, 
wherever the term Minstrel is in these pages applied to it 
before the Conqnest, it mnst be understood to be only by 
anticipation. Another early name for this profession in 
English was Jogeler, or Jocular. Lat. Jocttlator. [See p. 
15. as also note (V 2) and note CQ). To prevent con- 
fusion, we have chiefly used the more general word Min- 
strel : which (as the author of the Obscrv. on the Statutes 
hath suggested to the Editor) might have been originally 
derived from a diminutive of the Lat. Minuter, scil. Minis- 
trrellus, Ministrellut. 

t Ministers seems to be nsed for Minstrels in the Account 
of the InUironication of Abp. Neville. (An. e. Edw. IV.) 
"Then all the Chaplvns mnst say grace, and the Ministers 
do sing." >«d. Lelaadi Collectanea, by Hcarne, vol. vi. 
p. 13. 



deaurats Tolos. " Item, etiam congregabuntur 
piscatores, qui debent interesse isto die in proces- 
sions cum ministris seu joculatoribus : quia ipsi 
piscatores tenentur habere isto die joculatores, seu 
mimos ob honorem Crucis — et vadunt primi ante 
processionem cum ministris seu joculatoribus semper 

fulsantibus usque ad ecclesium S. Stephani." 
Gloss. 773]. — This may, perhaps, account for the cle- 
cal appearance of the minstrels, who seem to have 
been distinguished by the tonsure, which was one of 
the inferior marks of the clerical character*. Thus 
Jeffery of Monmouth, speaking of one who acted 
the part of a minstrel, says, " Rasit capillos suos et 
barbam" (see note K.) Again, a writer in the reign 
of Elizabeth, describing the habit of an ancient 
minstrel, speaks of his head as "rounded Tonster- 
wise," (which I venture to read tonsure-wise), "his 
beard smugly shaven." See above, p. xxi. 

It must, however be observed, that notwithstand- 
ing such clerical appearance of the minstrels, and 
though they might be sometimes countenanced by 
such of the clergy as were of more relaxed morals, 
their sportive talents rendered them generally ob- 
noxious to the more rigid ecclesiastics, and to such 
of the religious orders as were of more severe dis- 
cipline ; whose writings commonly abound with 
heavy complaints of the great encouragement shown 
to those men by the princes and nobles, and who 
can seldom afford them a better name than that of 
scurrtt, famelici, nebulones, &c. of which innumer- 
able instances may be seen in Du Cange. It was 
even an established order in some of the monasteries, 
that no minstrel should ever be Buffered to enter the 
gat esf. 

We have however innumerable particulars of the 
good cheer and great rewards given to the Minstrels 
in many of the Convents, which are collected by T. 

• It his however been suggested to the Editor by the 
learned and ingenious author of " Irish Antiquities," 4to. 
that the ancient Mhni among the Romans had their heads 
and beards shaven, as is shown by S<iima*ins in Notis ad 
Hist. August. Scriptores VI. Paris. 1620, foL p. 389. So 
that this peculiarity had a classical origin, though it after* 
wards might make the Minstrels sometimes pass for Eccle- 
siastics, as appears from the instance given below. Dr. 
Bnrncy tells na that Histrionee, and Mimi, abounded in 
France in the time of Charlemagne (ii. 231,) so that their 
profession was banded down in regular snecessipn from the 
time or the Romans, and therewith some leading distinctions 
of their habit or appearance ; yet with a change in their arts 
of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing 
and music. 

t Yet in St. Mary's church at Beverley, one of the 
columns hath this inscription : *' Thys Pillar made the Mys> 
strylls ; " having its capital decorated with figures of five 
men in short coats ; one of whom holds an instrument re- 
sembling a lute. See Sir J. Hawkins, HisL ii. SO*. 



XXIV 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY 



71 



Worton, (i, 91, &c.) and others. But one instance, 
quoted from Wood's Hist. Antiq. Univ. Ox. l 67. 
(sub an. 1224), deserves particular mention. Two 
itinerant priests, on a supposition of their being 
Mimi or Minstrels, gained admittance. But the 
cellarer, sacrist, and others of the brethren, who had 
hoped to have been entertained with their diverting 
arts, &c. when they found them to be only two indi- 
gent Ecclesiastics, who could only administer spi- 
ritual consolation, and were consequently disap- 
pointed of their mirth, beat them and turned them 
out of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This passage 
furnishes an additional proof that a Minstrel might 
by his dress or appearance be mistaken for an Eccle- 
siastic 

(B) " The Minstrels use mimicry and action, and 
other means of diverting, &c."l It is observable, 
that our old monkish historians do not use the words 
Cantator, Cithar&dus, Musieus, or the like, to express 
a Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, Histrio, 
Joculator, or some other word that implies gesture. 
Hence it might be inferred, that the Minstrels set off 
their songs with all the arts of gesticulation, &cc. or, 
according to the ingenious hypothesis of Dr. Brown, 
united the powers of melody, poem, and dance. [See 
his History of the Rise of Poetry, &c] 

But indeed all the old writers describe them as 
exercising various arts of this kind. Joinville, in 
his Life of St. Lewis, speaks of some Armenian Min- 
strels, who were very dextrous Tumblers and Pos 
ture-masters. " Avec le Prince vinrent trois Menes 
triers de la Grande Hyermenie (Armenia) .. .. et 

avoient trois cors Quand ils encommenceoient a 

corner, vous dissiez que ce sont les voix de cygnes, 

• • . . et fesoient les plus douces melodies. Ils 

fesoient trois merveilleus taut, car on leur metoit 
une touaille desous les piez,ettournoienttoutdebout 
.... Les deux tournoient les testes arieres," &c. [See 
the extract at large, in the Hon. D. Harrington's 
Observations on. the Anc. Statutes, 4to, 2d. Edit p. 
273, omitted in the last impression.] 

1'his may also account for that remarkable clause 
in the press warrant of Henry VI. " De M inistrallis 
propter solatium Regis providendis," by which it is 
required, that the boys, to be provided "in arte 
Minis trallatus instructos," should also be " membris 
naturalibus elegantes." See above pag. 19. (Observ. 
on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. S37 ). 

Although by Minstrel was properly understood, 
in English, one who sung to the harp, or some other 
instrument of music, verses composed by himself or 
others; yet the term was also applied by our old 
writers to such as professed either music or singing 
seperately, and perhaps to such as practised any of 
the sportive arts connected with these 4 Music 
however being the leading idea, was at length pecu- 
liarly called Minstrelsy, and the name of Minstrel 
at last confined to the Musician only. 

In the French language all these Arts were in- 
cluded under the general name of Menestraudie, 
Menestraudise, JonglerU, &c. [Med. Lat MenesteUorum 
Ars, Art Jocuiatoria, &c«] — " On peut comprendre 
sous le nom de Jonglerie tout ce qui appartient aux 
anciens chansonniers Proven caux, Normands, 
Picards, 6tc. Le corps dela Jonglerie etoit forme des 
Tvouveres, ou Troubadours, qui composoient les chan- 
sons, et parmi lesquels il y avoit des Improwsateurs, 

• Vld. infra. Not (A a.) 



comme on en trouve en Italic ; des Chanteurs ou 
Chanteres qui executoient ou chantoient ces compo- 
sitions ; des Contours qui fatsoient en vers ou en 
prose les contes, les recits, les histoires ; des Jon- 
gleurs ou Menestrels qui accompagnoient de leurs 
instruments. L'art de ces Chant res ou Chanson- 
niers, etoit nomme la Science Gaie, Gay Saber. 1 ' 

(Pref. Anthologie Fran 9. 1765, 8vo, p. 17.) See 

also the curious Fauchet, (De'l Orig. de la Lang. Fr. 
p. 72, fyc.) " Bien tost apres la division de ce grand 
empire Francois en tant de petits royaumes, ducbez, 
et comtez, au lieu des Poetes commencerent a se 
faire cognoistre les Troverres,et Ckanterres, Conic ours, 
et Jugticours: qui sont Trouveurs, Cbantres, Contours, 
Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, c'eat a dire, Menestriers 
chantans avec la viole." 

We see then that Jongleur, Jugleur, (Lat Joculator 
Juglator) was a peculiar name appropriated to the 
Minstrels. " Les Jongleurs ne fesoient que chanter 
les poesies sur leurs instrumens. On les appelloit 
aussi Menestrels :" says Fontenelle, in his Hist du 
Theat Franc, prefixed to his Life of Corneille. 

(C) " Successors of the ancient Bards." That the 
Minstrels in many respects bore a strong resemblance 
both to the British Bards and to the Danish Scalds, 
appears from this, that the old Monkish writers 
express them all without distinction by the same 
names in Latin. Thus Geoffrey of Monmouth, him- 
self a Welshman, speaking of an old pagan British 
king, who excelled in singing and music so far as to 
be esteemed by bis countrymen the Patron Deity of 
the Bards, uses the phrase Deus Joculatorum ; which 
is the peculiar name given to the English and French 
Minstrels*. In like manner, William Malmsbury, 
speaking of a Danish king's assuming the profession 
of a Scald, expresses it by Prafessus Mimum ; which 
was another name given to the Minstrels in Middle 
Latinity f. Indeed Du Cange, in his Glossary, quotes 
a writer, who positively asserts that the Minstrels of 
the middle ages were the same with the ancient 
Bards. I shall give a large extract from this learned 
glossographer, as he relates many curious particulars 
concerning the profession and arts of the Minstrels ; 
whom, after tbe Monks, he stigmatizes by the name 
of Scumt; though he acknowledges their songs 
often tended to inspire virtue. 

'* Ministelli, dicta pnesertim Scurra, Mimi, Jocu- 

latores." " Ejusmodi Scurrarum munus era: 

principes non suis duntaxat ludicris oblectare, Bed et 
eorum aures variia, avorum, adeoque ipsorum prin* 
cipum laudibus, non sine Assentatione, cum canti- 
lenis et musicis instrumentis demulcere. • . • 

" Interdum etiam virorum insignium et heroum 
gesta, aut explicata et jocund a narratione commemo- 
rabant, aut suavi vocis inflexione, fidibusque decan- 
tabant, quo sic dominorum, csterorumque qui his 
intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem 
capessendam, et summorum virorum imitationem 
occenderent : quod fuit olim apud Callos Bardorum 
ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. Neque enim 
alios a Ministellis, veterum Gallorum Bardos fuisse 
pluribus probat Henricus Valesius ad 15 Ammiani 

Chronicon Bertrandi Guesclini. 

" Qui veut avoir renom des bona et des vaillans 
11 doit aler souvent a la pluie et au champs 
Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollsns, 
Les Quatre Fils Haimon, et Charlon li plus grans, 



I 



* Vid. note ( B) (K) (Q.) t Vld. note (N.) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



XX* 



Li dus Lions de Bourses, et Guions de Connans, 
Perceval li Galois, Lancelot, et Tristans, 
Alexandres. Artus, Godfroi li Sachans, 
De qnoy cils Menestriers font lea nobles Romans.*' 

" Nicolaus de Braiadescribens solenne convivium, 
quo post inaugurationem suam proceres excepit Lud. 
vlll. rex Franco rum, ait inter ipsius convivii appa- 
ratus!, in medium prodiisse Mimum, qui regis lauaes 
ad cytharum decantavit.*' — 

Our author then gives the lines at length, which 
begin thus, 

" Dumque fovent genium geniali munere Bacchi, 
Neetare commixto curas reuiovente Lyaso 
Principis a facie, cithane celeberrimas arte 
Assurgit Mimus, ars musica quem decora vit. 
Hie ergo chorda resonante suointulit ista : 
Inclyte rex regum, probitatis stemmate vernana, 
Quern vigor et virtus extollit in aethera fams," &c. 

The rest may be seen in Dn Cange, who thus pro- 
ceeds, " Mitto reliqna similia, ex quibns omnino 
patet ejusmodi Mimorum et Ministellorum cantilenas 
ad virtutem principes excitasse .... Id praesertim in 
pugnai pnecinctu, dominis suis occinebant, ut mar- 
tium ardorem ineorem animis concitarent ; cujusmodi 
centum Cantiknam Rollandi appellat Will. Malmesb. 
lib. 5-— Aimoinus, lib. 4. de Mirac. S. Bened. c 
37. 'Tanta vero illis securitas.. ..ut Scurram se 
precedere facerent, qui musico instrumento res for- 
titer gestas et priorum bella pnecineret, quatenns his 
acrius incitarentur, &c.'" As the writer was a 
monk, we shall not wonder at his calling the Min- 
strel, Scurram* 

This word Scttrra, or some one similar, is repre- 
sented in the Glossaries as the proper meaning of 
Ltccator (Fr. Leccour) the ancient term by which 
the Minstrel appears to be expressed in the Grant to 
Dutton, quoted above in page xxxvii. On this head 
I shall produce a very curious passage, which is 
twice quoted in Du Cange's Glossary, (sc. ad verb. 

Menestellus et ad verb. Locator.) "Phillippus 

Mouskes in Philip. Aug. finjpt Carolum M. Provin- 
ce comitatum Scums et Munis suis olim donasse, 
indeque postea tantum in hao regione poetarum 
numerum excrevisse. 

" Quar quant li buens Rois Karlemaigne 
Ot toute mise a son demaine 
Provence, qui mult iert plentive 
De vins, de bois, d'aigue, de rive. 
As Leccours as Menestreus 
Qui sont auques luxurieus 
Le donna toute et departL" 

(D) " The Poet and the Minstrel early with ns 
became two persons."] The word Scald compre- 
hended both characters among the Danes, nor do I 
know that they bad any peculiar name for either of 
them separate. But it was not so with the Anglo- 
Saxons. They called a poet Sceop, and Leofcpyhra : 
the last of these comes from Leofe, a song ; and the 
former answers to our old word Maker (Gr.IIotnrifc) 
being derived from Scippan or Sceopan, formart, 
facer*, jingere, creare (Ang. to shape). As for the 
Minstrel, they distinguished nim by the peculiar 
appellation of Dhjman, and perhaps by the more 
simple title of Heariperie, Harper: [See below, 
Notes (H), (I)] This last title, at least, is often 
given to a Minstrel by our most ancient English 
rhymists, See in this work series i. p. 18, &c series 
iii o. &c 



(E) " Minstrels .... at the houses of the great, 
&c."] Du Cange affirms, that in the middle ages the 
courts of princes swarmed so much with this kind of 
men, and such large sums were expended in main- 
taining and rewarding them, that they often drained 
the royal treasuries : especially, he adds, of such as 
were delighted with their flatteries ("praesertim qui 
ejusmodi Ministellorum assentatiombus delecta- 
bantur.") He then confirms his assertion by several 
passages out of monastic writers, who sharply inveigh 
against this extravagance. Of these I snail here 
select only one or two, which show what kind of 
rewards were bestowed on these old Songsters. 

" Rigordus de Gestis Philippi Aug. an. 1185. 
" Cum in curiis regum sou aliorum principum, fre- 
quens turba Histrionum convenire soleat, ut ab eia 
Aurum, Argentum,Equos ( sen vestes*, quos perssepe 
mutare consueverunt principes, ab eis extorqueant, 
verba joculatoria variis adulationibus plena proferre 
nituntur. Et ut magis placeant, quicauid de ipsis 
principibus probabiliter fingi potest, videlicit oinnes 
delitias et lepores, et visu dignas urban itates et 
csteras ineptias, trutinantibus buccis in medium 
eructare non erubescunt. Vidimus quondam quos- 
dam principes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis 
florum picturationibus artificios6 elaboratas, pro 
quibus forsan f veL SO marcas argenti consumpse- 
rant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Histrionibus, 
ministris diaboli, ad primam vocem dedisse, &c." 

The curious reader may find a similar, though at 
the same time a more candid account, in that most 
excellent writer, Presid. Fauchet: (Recueil de la 
Lang. Fr. p. 73.) who says that, like the ancient 
Greek Aoiooc, " Nos Tronverres, ainsi que ceux la, 
prenans leur subject sur lea faits des vaillans ( qu'ils 
appelloyent Geste, venaat de Getta Latin) alloyent 
.... par les cours rejouir les Princes .... Remportans 
des grandes recompences des seigneurs, qui bien 
souvent leur donnoyent jusques aux robes qu'ils 
avoyent vestues : et lesquelles ces Jugleours ne 
failloyent de porter aux autres cours, a fin d'inviter 
les seigneurs a pareille liberalite. Ce qui a dure si 
longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu Marten 
Baraton (ja viel Menestrier d'Orleans) lequel aux 
fes'tes et nopees batoit un tabourm d'argent, seme 
des plaques aussi d'argent, gravees des srmoiries de 
ceux a qui il avoit appris a danser." — Here we see 
that a Minstrell sometimes performed the function oi 
a Dancing-master. 

Fontenelle even gives ns to understand, that these 
men were often rewarded with favours of a still 
higher kind. " Les princesses et les plus grandee 
dames y joignoient souvent leurs faveurs. Elles 
etoient fort foibles centre les beaux esprits." (Hisr. 
du Theat) We are not to wonder then that this 
profession should be followed by men of the first 
quality, particularly the younger sons and brothers 
of great houses. " Tel qui par les partagea de fa 
famine n'avoit que la moitie ou le quart d'une vieux 
chateaux bien seigneurial, alloit quelque temps courir 
le monde en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de 

■ — r ^ 1> _ 

9 The Minstrels la France were received with great mag- 
nificence In tbe fourteenth century. Froissart describing a 
Christmas entertainment given by the Comte de Folz, tells 
as, that " there were many Mynrtrels, as well of hys own 
as of stranngers, and eache of them dyd their devoyre in 
their faculties. The same day the Earle of Foix gave to 
Haaralds and Minstrelles the som of fvve hundred frankes : 
and gave to the Dnke of Tonrayns Mynstreles gownes of 
clothe of gold tarred with ermyne valacd at two hondred 
frankes." B. UL c IL Eng. Trans. Load. 1010. (Mr. C.) 



C 2 



XXVI 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Chateau." (Fontenelle Hist da Theat) We see 
then, that there was no improbable fiction in those 
ancient songs and romances, which are founded on 
the story of Minstrels being beloved by kings 
daughters, &c. and discovering themselves to be the 
sons of some foreign prinoe, fitc. 

(F) The honours and rewards lavished upon the 
Minstrels were not confined to the continent. Our 
own countryman Johannes Sarisburiensis (in the 
time of Henry II.) declaims no less than the Monks 
abroad, against die extravagant favour shewn to 
these men. " Non enim more nugatorum ejus seculi 
in Histriones et Mimos, et hujusmodi monstra hom- 
inum, ob fame redemptionem et dilatationem nominis 
effunditis opes vestras," &c. [Epist. 247*.] 

The Monies seem to grudge every act of munificence 
that was not applied to the benefit of themselves, and 
their convents. They therefore bestow great applauses 
upon the Emperor Henry, who at his marriage with' 
Agnes of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor min- 
strels, and sent them away empty. " Infimtam His- 
trionem et Joculatorum multitudinem sine cibo et 
muneribus vacuam et mcerentem abire permisit." 
(Chronic. Virtziburg.) For which I doubt not but 
he was sufficiently stigmatised in the Songs and 
Ballads of those times. Vid. Du Cange, Gloss, torn, 
iv. p. 771, &c. 

(G) " The annals of the Anglo-Saxons are scanty 
and defective.' 1 ] Of the few histories now remaining 
that were written before the Norman Conquest, 
almost all are such short and naked sketches and 
abridgements, giving only a concise and general 
relation of the more remarkable events, that scarce 
any of the minute circumstantial particulars are to be 
found in them : nor do they hardly ever descend to 
to a description of the customs, manners, or domestic 
economy of their countrymen. The Saxon Chron- 
icle, for instance, which ia the best of them, and 
upon some accounts extremely valuable, is almost 
such an epitome as Lucius Floras and Eutropius 
have left us of the Roman history. As for Ethel- 
ward, his book is judged to be an imperfect transla- 
tion of the Saxon Chronicler ; and the Pseudo-Asser, 
or Chronicle of St. Neot, is a poor defective perform- 
ance. How absurd would it be then to argue against 
the existence of customs or facts, from the silence of 
such scanty records as these ! Whoever would carry 
his researches deep into that period of history, might 
safely plead the excuse of a learned writer, who cad 
particularly studied the Ante-Norman historians. 
" Conjecturis (licet nusquam verisimili fundamento) 
aliquoties indulgemus . . . utpote ab Historicis jejune 
nimis et indiligenter res nostras tractantibus coacti 
. . . Nostri . . • nuda factorum commemoratione pie- 
rumque contend, reliqua omnia, sive ob ipsarum 
rerum, sive meliorum literarum, sive Historicorum 
officii ignorantiam, fere intacta pnetereunL" Vide 
plura in Prefat. ad <£lfr. Vitam a Spelman. Ox. 
1678. fol. 

(II) "Minstrels and Harpers:"] That the Harp 
(Citharay was the common musical instrument of the 
Anglo-Saxons, might be inferred from the very word 
itself, which is not derived from the British, or any 
other Celtic language, but of genuine Gothic original, 



* Et vid. PoMcreticon, cap. 8, &c 
t Vid. Nioobou's £ng. HbU Lib. &c 



and current among every branch of that people : via 
Ang. Sax. Heartpe, Heartpa. Iceland. Harpa. 
Haurpa. Dan. and Belg. Harpe. Germ. Harpffe. 
Harpffa. Gal. Harpe. Span. Harpa. ItaJ. Arpa. 
I Vid. Jun. Etym. — Monage Etym. &c] As also 
from this, that the word Heartpe is constantly used 
in the Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin 
words Citnara, Ijyra, and even Cymbalum : the word 
Psalmus itself being sometimes translated Hearip 
run j, Harp Song. [Gloss. Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo- 
Sax. Lexic.1 

But the fact itself is positively proved by the ex- 
press testimony of Bede, who tells us that it was 
usual at festival meetings for this instrument to be 
handed round, and each of the company to sing to it 
in his turn. See his Hist Eccles. Anglor, Lib. 4. c. 
24. where speaking: of their sacred poet Caedmon, 
who lived in the tunes of the Heptarchy (ob. circ. 
680) he says : — 

" Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poernatis 
faoere potnit ; sed ea tanummodo, qua? ad religionera 
pertinent, religiosam ejus linguam decebant. Siqui- 
dem in habitu saeculari, usque ad tempore provectioris 
etatis constitutes, nil Carminum aliquanao didicerat 
Unde nonnunquam in convivio, cum esset lartittiae 
causa decretum ut omnes per ordinem cantare debe- 
rent, ille ubi appropinquare sibi cithsram cernebat, 
surgebat a media cena, et egressus, ad suam domum 
repedabaL" 

I shall now subjoin King Alfred's own Anglo- 
Saxon translation of this passage, with a literal inter- 
lineary English version. 

" He. . na*prie noht leapunga. ne re-elep leofeep 

He .... never no leastngt, nor idle $ongg 
pyricean ne mihte. ac epne fea an fea fce tc 
compote ne might ; but to ! only those things which to 
•peptneppe belunipon. -j hip fca epeptan tunxan 
religion [piety] belong, and his then pious tongue 
getapeno&e pinxan : UJ«ep he pe man in peojiol* 
became to sing : He was the [a] man in worldly 
habe xepeteto ofc $a ti*&e fee he £sjp op 
[secular] state set to the time in which he was of 
gelypebjie yl*bo. -j he neprie s?nij leo£ 
an advanced age; and he never any song 
3eleortnobe. -y be poji)>on opt in gebeoripcipe 
learned. And he therefore oft in an entertainment 
Sonne fcaeji p«p blippe intmxa xebemeb 

when there teas for merriment-sake adjudged [or de- 
-p hi ealle pceoltan $urih enbebyjibnepp e 
creed] that they aU should through their turns by 
be heajipan pinjan. {Sonne he xep eah fca heajipan 
[totfie] harp sing; when he saw the harp 
him neaUecean. Sonne ajiap he port p ceome priam 
him approach, then arose he for shame from 
Sam pymle. *j ham eobe to hip hupe." 

the supper, and home yode [went] to his house. 
Bed. Hist EccL a Smith. Cantab. 1722. fol. p. 597. 

In this version of Alfred's it is observable, (1) 
that be has expressed the Latin word cantare, by the 
Anglo-Saxon words " be heajipan pnjan," sing to 
the harp : as if they were synonymous, or as if his 
countrymen had no idea of singing unaccompanied 
with the Harp : (2) That when Bede simply says, 
surgebat a medid cemA ; be assigns a motive, " ajiap 
pop. pceome," arose for shame : that is, either from 
an austerity of manners, or from his being deficient 
in an accomplishment, which so generally prevailed 
among his countrymen. 

(1) "The word Glee, which peculiarly denoted 
their art, ficc" This word Glee is derived from the 



Mi 



99 



s^m 



*^^ 



SOB 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xxvii 



I 



Anglo-Saxon Dliyx, [G%g] Musica, Music, Min- 
strelsy (Somn). This is the common radix, whence 
arises such a variety of terms and phrases relating to 
the Minstrel Art, as affords the strongest internal 
proof, that this profession was extremly common 
and popular here before the Norman Conquest. 
Thus we hare 

I. 

(1) trlip, [Gliw] Mimut a Minstrel. 

trhxman, xhgmon, jliman, [Gleeman*] Histrio 
Mimug, Pantomimus ; all common names in Middle 
Latinity for a Minstrel: and Somner accordingly 
renders the original by a Minstrel ; a Player on a 
Timbrel or Taber. He adds, a Fidisr ; but although 
the Fythell or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by 
which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes accompanied 
his song, (see Warton, i. 17) it is probable that Som- 
ner annexes here only a modern sense to the word, 
not having at all investigated the subject. 

niiimen, jhijmen. [Glee-men.] Histriones Min- 
strels. Hence 

Clixmanna yppe>. Orchestra vel Pulpitus The 
place where the Minstrels exhibited their perform- 
ances. 

(z) But their most proper and expressive name 



\ __ 



nhphleofruenb. Musieus a Minstrel ; and 
niiphleo^juen^lica. Musieus, Musical. 
These two words include the full idea of the Min- 
strel character, expressing at once their music and 
singing, being compounded of Clip, Musieus, Mimus, 
a Musician, Minstrel, and Leo$, Carmen, a Song. 

(3) From the above word DI153, the profession 
itself was called 

nirxcruepv. [Glig or Glee-craft.] Musica, Histrie- 
nia, Mimica, Gttticuiatio: which Somner rightly gives 
in English, Minstrelsy, Mimical Gesticulation, Mum- 
mery. He also adds, Stage-playing ; but here again 
I think he substitutes an idea too modern, induced by 
the word Histrionia, which in Middle Latinity only 
signifies the Minstrel Art. 

However, it should seem that both mimical gesti- 
culation and a kind of rude exhibition of characters 
were sometimes attempted by the old Minstrels : 
•But 

(4) As Musica] Performances was the leading 
idea, so 

Dliopian, Cantus musicos edere ; and 

Ehgbeam, 5 lip beam. [Glig- or Glee-beam]. 
Tumpanam ; a Timbrel or Taber. (So Somn.) 
Hence 

Dlypan. Tympanum pulsars ; and 

• Gleman continued to be the name given to a Minstrel 
both In England and Scotland almost as long at this order 
of men continued. 

In De Branne's metrical version of Bishop Grosthead's 
Manuel de Peche, A. D. 1303. (See Warton, L fllj, we 
nave this, 

M Gode men, ye shall lere 

When ye any Gltman here." 
F^byan (In his Chronicle, 1533. f. 32,) translating the 
passage from Geoffrey of Monmouth, quoted below In page 
38. Note (K) renders Dem Joculatorum, by^God of 
Clemen. (Warton's Hist. Eng. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan 
died in 1503. 

Dtinb.«r, who lived In the same centnry, describing, In one 
of bis poems, intituled, " The Dannce," what passed in the 
infernal regions " amaugis the Feyndis," says, 

" Na Menstralls play it to thame, bat dowt, 
For Gle-men thatre wer balilin, oat, 
Be day and eke by nicht." 
See Poems from Bannatyne's MS. Ediab. 1770, liino. page 
30 MaitUuri's MS. at Cambridge reads here, Glewe men. 



Ehp-meben ; trliypien'be-maben ; [Glee-maiden] * 
Tympanistria : which Somner renders a She-Minstrel; 
for it should seem that they had Females of this pro- 
fession ; one name for which was also Oypby*be- 
neftria. 

(5) Of congenial derivation to the foregoing, is 
Dlypc. [Glywc]. Tibia, a Pipe or Flute. 
Both this and the common radix Dlijj, are with 

?reat appearance of truth derived by Junius from the 
celandic Gliggur, Flatus: as supposing the first 
attempts at music among our Gothic ancestors were 
from wind-instruments. Vid. Jun. Etym. Ang. 
V. Glee. 

IX 

But the Minstrels, as is hinted above, did not 
confine themselves to the mere exercise of their pri- 
mary arts of Music and Song, but occasionally used 
many other modes of diverting. Hence, from the 
above root was derived, in a secondary sense, 

(1) nieo, and pmpim xlip. Facetiae 
Eleopian, Joosri ; to jest, or be merry ; (Somn.) 

and 

IHeopienb, jocans; jesting, speaking merrily; 
(Somn.) 

Dhjman also signified Jocista, a Jester. 
Dhj-jamen. [Glee-games.] jocu Which Somner 
renders Merriments, or merry Jests, or trick, or Sports; 
Gamboles. 

(2) Hence, again* by a common metonymy of the 
cause for the effect. 

Dhe>, gaudium, alacritas, Urtitia, facetut ; Joy, 
Mirth, Gladness, Cheerfulness, Glee. [Somner.] Which 
last application of the word still continues, though 
rather in a low debasing sense. . 

III. 

But however agreeable and delightful the various 
arts of the Minstrels might be to the Anglo-Saxon 
laity, there is reason to believe that before the Nor- 
man Conquest at least, they were not much favoured 
by the clergy ; particularly by those of monastic pro- 
fession. For, not to mention that the sportive talents 
of these men would be considered by those austere 
ecclesiastics as tending to levity and licentiousness, 
the Pagan origin of their art would excite in the 
Monks an insuperable prejudice against it. The 
Anglo-Saxon Harpers and Gleemen were the imme- 
diate successors and imitators of the Scandinavian 
Scalds ; who were the great promoters of Pagan 
superstition, and fomented that spirit of cruelty and 
outrage in their countrymen the Danes which fell 
with such peculiar severity on the religious and their 
convents- — Hence arose a third application of words 
derived from EI15S, Minstrelsy, in a very unfavour- 
able sense, and this chiefly prevails in books of reli- 
gion and ecclesiastic discipline. Thus 

(I) DI15 is Ludibrium, laughing to scorn* So in 
8. BasiL Hegul. 11. Hi ha?pt>on him «o xhxe hal- 
pen*be mmejunje. Ludribrio habebant salutarem 

ejus admonitionem. (10) This sense of the word 

was perhaps not ill-founded; for as the sport of 
rude uncultivated minds often arises from ridicule, 
it is not improbable but tbe old Minstrels often in- 
dulged a vein of this sort, and that of no very delicate 
kind. So again, 



• To gleek, is ased in Shakespeare, for " to make sport, 
to jest," &c. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



niig-man was also used to signify Scurra, a 
" Saucy Jester." (Soran.) 

niig-geofLn. Dicai, SeurriUsjoeas supra ouam par 
est amans. Officium Episcopate, 3. 

Elrpian. Seurrilibus obUctamentU indulgere; Scur- 
ram agere. Canon. Edgar, 58. 

(t) Again, as the Tarions attempts to please, 
practised, by an order of men who owed their sup- 
port to the public favour, might be considered by 
those grave censors as mean and debasing : Hence 
came from the same root, 

Dliperu Panuitui, Auentator ; " A Fawner, a 
Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer •• (Somn.) 

IV. 

To return to the Anglo-Saxon word Eligg ; not- 
withstanding the rations secondary senses in which 
this word (as we hare seen above) was so early 
applied ; yet 

The derivative Glee (though now chiefly used to 
express Merriment and Joy) long retained its first 
simple meaning, and is even applied by Chaucer to 
signify Music and Minstrelsy. (Vid. Jun. Etym.) 
E.g. 

•• For though that the best harper upon lire 
Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe 
That evir was, with all his fingers five 
Touch aie o string, or aie o warble harpe, 
Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe 
It shoulde matcin every wight to dull 
To hears is glee, and of his strokes ful." 

Troyl.lib.ii, 1030. 

Junius interprets Glees by Musica Instrumenta, in 
the following passages of Chaucer's 'Jliird Boke of 
Fame. 

" . • Stoden • . the castell all aboutin 
Of all maner of Mynstrales 
And Jestours that tellen tales 
Both of wepyne and of game, 
And of all that longeth unto fame ; 
There herde I play on a harpe 
That sowned both well and sharpe 
Hym Orpheus full craftily ; 
And on tnis syde fast by 
Sate the harper Orion ; 
And Eacides Chirion ; 
And other harpers many one, 
And the Briton GUskyrion. 

After mentioning these, the great masters of the 
art, he proceeds ; 

" And small Harpers with her Glees 
Sat under them in clivers sees. 

Again, a little below, the poet having enumerated 
the performers on all the different sorts of instru- 
ments, adds, 



• The preceding Hit of Angk>8axon works, to fall and 
copious beyond any thins that ever vet appeared in print on 
this subject, was extracted from Mr. Lye's cartons Anglo- 
Saxon Lexicon, in MS. bat the arrangement here is the 
Editor's own. It had however received the sanction of Mr. 
Lye's approbation, and wotild doubtless have been received 
into his printed copy had he lived to publish it himself. 

It shonld also be obrerved, fur the sake of fuiuie re- 
searches, that withont the assistance of the old English In- 
terpretations given by ftomner, in his Anglo-Saxon Dic- 
tionary, the Editor of this book never could have discovered 
that Gl«e signified " Minstrelsy/' or Gligman a - Minstrel." 



" There sawe I syt in other sees 
Playing upon other sundry Glees, 
Which that I cannot neven * 
More than starres ben in heven, &c. 

Upon the above lines I shall only make a few 
observations : 

(1) That by Jestours, I suppose we are to 
unaerstand Gestoura ; scil. the relaters of Gests, 
(Lat Gesta) or stories of adventures both comic 
and tragical ; whether true or feinged ; I am in- 
clined to add, whether in prose or verse. (Compare 
the record below, in marginal note subjoined to ( V) 
t . Of the stories in prose, I conceive we have 
specimens in that singular book the Goto, Ro- 
manarttm, and this will account for its seemingly 
improper title. These were evidently what the 
French called Contours, or Story-tellers, and to 
them we are probably indebted for the first Prose 
Romances of chivalry : which may be considered as 
specimens of their manner. 

(f) That the " Briton Glaskeryon," whoever he 
was, is apparently the aame person with our famous 
Harper Glasgerion, of whom the reader will find 

a tragical ballad, at page 206. In that song 

may be seen an instance of what was advanced 
above in note (E), of the dignity of the minstrel 

Srofession, or at least of the artifice with which the 
linstrels endeavoured to set off its importance. 
Thus " a king's son is represented as appearing 
in the character of a Harper or Minstrel in the 
court of another king. He wears a collar (or gold 
chain J as a person of illustrious rank; rides on 
horsebank, and is admitted to the embraces of a 
king's daughter." 

The Minstrels lost no opportunity of doing honour 
to their art. 

(3) As for the word Glees, it is to this day used 
in a musical sense, and applied to a peculiar piece of 
composition. Who has not seen the advertisements 
proposing a reward to him who should produce the 
best Catch, Canon, or Glee 1 

(K) " Comes from the pen of Goffrey of Mon- 
mouth."] Geoffrey's own words are " Cum ergo 
alterius modi aditum [Boldulpbus] non haberet, 
rasit capillos suos et barbam t, cultumque Jocu- 
latoris cum Cythara fecit. Deinde intra castra 
deambulans, modulis quos in Lyra componebat, i 
sese Cytharistam exhibebat." Gaff. Monum. Hist 
4to, 1508, lib. vii. c. 1.— That Joeulatar signifies 
precisely a Minstrel appears not only from this 
passage, where it is used as a word of like import 

* Neven, I. e. name. 
♦ Geoffrey of Monmonih Is probably here describing the 
appearance of the Joculatom or Minstrels, as it was in his 
own time. For they apparently derived this part of their 
dress, &c from the Mhm of the ancient Romans, who had 
their beads and beards shaven : (see above, p. xxJ. note t,) 
as they likewise did the mimicry, and other arts of divert- 
ing, which they superadded to the composing and singing to 
the harp heroic songs, &c. which they inherited from their 
own progenitors the bards and scalds of the ancient Celtic 
and Gothic nations. The Longobardl had, like other nor- 
thern people, brought these with them into Italy. For in 
the year 774, when Charlemagne entered Italy and found 
his passage Impeded, he was met by a Minstrel of L»mbardy, 
whose song promised him success and victory. " Contigk 
Joculatorkm ex Longobardorum gente ad Carolam venire, 
et Cantionculam a sa compositaw, rotando In consoectn 
snoruin cantare." Tom 11. p. 2. Chron. Monast. NovaL 
lib. lii. cap. x. p. 717. (T. Warton's Hist. vol. U. Emend, 
of vol. i. p. 113.) 



*• 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



XXIX 



to CUharista or Harper, (which was the old English 
word for Minstrel,) hut also from another passage 
of the same author, where it is applied as equivalent 
to Cantor. See lib. i. cap. 2f , where, speaking of 
an ancient (perhaps fabulous) British King, he says, 
" Hie omnes Cantores quos praecedens tttas ha- 
buerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis instru- 
ments ezcedebat: ita ut Deus Joculatorum vide- 
retur."— — Whatever credit is due to Geoffrey as a 
relater of Facts, he is certainly as good authority as 
any for the signification of Words. 

(L) " Two reraakable facts.'*] Both of these 
facts are recorded by William of Malmesbury ; and 
the first of them, relating to Alfred, by Ingulphus 
also. N ow Ingulphus ( afterwards abbot of Croyland) 
was near forty years of age at the time of the Con- 

auest *, and consequently was as proper a judge of 
le Saxon manners, as if he had actually written his 
history before that event ; he is therefore to be con- 
sidered as an Ante-Norman writer : so that whether 
the fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are 
assured from his testimony, that the Joctdator or 
Minstrel was a common character among the Anglo- 
Saxons. The same also may be inferred from the 
relation of William of Malmesbury, who outlived 
Ingulphus but thirty-three years t- Both these 
writers had doubtless recourse to innumerable 
records and authentic memorials of the Anglo- 
Saxon times which never descended down to us ; 
their testimony therefore is too positive and full to 
be overturned by the mere silence of the two or 
three slight Anglo-Saxori epitomes that are now 
remaining. Vid. note (G). 

As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a some- 
what more particular detail of Alfred's actions, and 
vet takes no notice of the following story, it will not 
be difficult to account for his silence, if we consider 
that he was a rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels, 
however acceptable to the laity, were never much 
respected by men of the more strict monastic pro- 
fession, especially before the Norman Conquest, 
when they would be considered as brethren of the 
Pagan Saldsf. Asser therefore might not regard 
Alfred's skill in Minstrelsy in a very favourable 
light ; and might be induced to drop the circum- 
stance related below, as reflecting in his opinion no 
great honour on his patron. 

The learned Editor of Alfred's Life, in Latin, 
after having examined the scene of action in person, 
and weighed all the circumstances of the event, 
determines, from the whole collective evidence, that 
Alfred could never have gained the victory he did 
if he had not with his own eyes previously seen the 
disposition of the enemy by such a stratagem as is 
here described. Vid. Annot. in yLlfr. Mug. Vitain, 
p. 53. Oxon. 1678, fol. 

(M) " Alfred . • . assumed the dress and character 
of a " Minstrel.'*] " Fingens se Joctjlatorem, as- 
sumpta cithara," otc Ingulphi HisL p. 869. — " Sub 
specie mimi . . . ut JocuLATonuc professor artis." 
Gul. Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 4. p. 43. That both Joculator 
and Mimus signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved 



• Natns 1030, srrlpslt 1001, obi it 1109. Tanner. 

f Obitt anno 1142. Tanner. 

| (Sec above, p. xxvM ) Both Ingnlph. and Will, of Mai- 
merit*, had been very conversant among the Normans, who 
appear not to have had such prejudices against the Minstrels 
as the Anglo-Saxons had 



I 



in notes (B) (K) (N) (Q) &c. See also Note 
(G g). 

Malmesbury adds, " Unius tantum fidelissimi frue- 
batur conscientia," As this confidant does not 
appear to have assumed the disguise of a Minstrel 
himself, I conclude that he only appeared as the 
Minstrel's attendant. Now that the Minstrel had 
sometimes his servant or attendant to carry his 
harp, and even to sing to his music, we have many 
instances in the old Metrical Romances, and even 
some in this present collection : See Series the First, 
Song vi. ; Series the third, Song vii. &c. Among 
the French and Provencal Bards, the Trouverre, 
or Inventor, was generally attended with his singer, 
who sometimes also played on the harp, or other 
musical instrument. " Quelque fois durant le repas 
d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trouverre inconnu 
avec ses Menestrels ou Jongleours, et il leur faisoit 
chanter sur leurs harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il 
avoit composes. Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi 
bien que les Mots etoient les plus estimes." Fon- 
tenelle Hist du Theatr. 

That Alfred excelled in Music is positively asserted 
by Bale, who doubtless had it from some ancient 
MS. many of which subsisted in his time that are 
now lost : as also by Sir J. Spelman, who, we may 
conclude, had good authority for this anecdote, as 
he is known to have compiled his life of Alfred from 
authentic materials collected by his learned father : 
this writer informs us that Alfred " provided him- 
self of musitian8, not common, or such as knew 
but the practick part, but men skilful in the art 
itself, whose skill and service he yet further im- 
proved with his own instruction." p. 199. This 
proves Alfred at least to have understood the theory 
of music ; and how could this have been acquired 
without practising on some instrument ? which we 
have seen above, note (H), was so extremely common 
with the Anglo-Saxons, even in much ruder times, 
that Alfred himself plainly tells us, it was shameful 
to be ignorant of it. And this commonness might 
be one reason, why Asser did not think it of con- 
sequence enough to be particularly mentioned in his 
short life of that great monarch. This rigid Monk 
may also have esteemed it a slight and frivolous 
accomplishment savouring only of worldly vanity. 
He has however particularly recorded Alfred's 
fondness for the oral Anglo-Saxon poems and songs 
[" Saxonica poemata die nocteque . . . audiens . . • 
memorita retinebat." p. 16. " Carmina Saxonica me- 
moriter discere," Sec. p. 43, et ib.] Now the poems 
learnt by rote, among all ancient unpolished nations, 
are ever songs chanted by the reciter, and accom- 
panied with instrumental melody *. 

(N) " With his harp in his hand, and dressed 
like a Minstrel."] " Assumpta manu cithara . . . 
professus Mimum, qui hujusmodi arte stipem quoti- 
dianam mercaretur . . . Jussus abire pretium Cantus 
accepit." Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 6. We see here that 
which was rewarded was (not any mimicry or tricks, 
but) bis singing (Cantus); this proves, beyond 
dispute, what was the nature of the entertainment 
Aulaff afforded them. Perhaps it is needless by 
this time to prove to the reader, that Mimus in Mid- 
dle Latinity signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Min- 

■ - i * 

• Thus Leob, the Saxon word for a Poem, Is properly a 
song, and its derivative JUcrfslgnlfie* a ballad to this day in 
the German tongue : and Canton, we have seen above, is 
by Alfred himself rendered Be beajipan pnxan. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



strelsy, or the Minstrel-art. Should he doubt it, 
let him cast his eye oyer the two following extracts 
from Du Cange. 

" Mimus : Musicus, qui instrnmentis musicis 
canit. Leges Palatine* Jacobi II. Reg. Majoric. In 
domibus principum, ut tradit antiquitas, Mimi seu 
Joculatores licite possunt esse. Nam illorum offi- 
cium tribuit laetitiam. . . . Quapropter voluraus et 
ordinanius, quod in nostra curia Muni debeant esse 
quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores, et tertius 
sit tabelerius : [i. e. a player on the tabor •.] Lit. 
remiss, ann. 1374. Ad Mimos cornicitantes, seu 
bucinantes accesserunt." 

Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum. [potius, 
Are Joculatoria.1 Ann. 1482. . . . " mimia et cantu 
victum acquiro. 

Du Cange, Gloss, torn. iv. 1762. Supp. c. 1225. 

(O) " To hare been a Dane."] The northern 
historians produce such instances of the great respect 
shown to the Danish Scalds in the courts of our 
Anglo-Saxon kings, on account of their musical and 
poetic talents, (notwithstanding they were of so 
hateful a nation) that if a similar order of men had 
not existed here before, we cannot doubt but the 
profession would have been taken up by such of the 
natives as had a genius for poetry and music. 

" Extant Rhytnmi hoc ipso [Islandico] idiomate 
Angliae, Hyberniseque Regibua oblati et liberaliter 
compensate, etc. Itaque hlnc colligi potest linguam 
Danicam in aulis yicinorum regum, principum que 
familiarem fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulus prin- 
cipum peregrins idiomata in deliciis haberi cernunus. 
Imprimis Vita Egilli SkaUagrimii id invicto argu- 
mento adstruit. Quippe qui interrogatus ab Adal- 
steino, Anglia rejre, quomodo manus Eirici Blo- 
doxii, Northumbrian regis, postquam in ejus potes- 
tatem venerat, eyasisset, cuius fihum propinquosque 
Occident • . . rei statim ordinem metro, nunc satis 
obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narraturus non 
intelligent^ [Vid plura apud Torfeii Prsefat ad 
Oread. Hist, fol.] 

This same Egul was no less distinguished for his 
valour and skill as a soldier, than for his poetic and 
singing talents as a Scald ; and he was such a fa- 
vourite with our king Athelstan, that he at one time 
§ resented him with " duobus annulis et scriniis, 
uobus bene magma argento repletis. . . . Quinetiam 
hoc addidit, ut Lgillus quidvis preterea a se petens. 
obtineret ; bona mobilia, sive immobilia, pneben- 
dam vel prefectures. Egillus porro regiam munifi- 



* The Tahonr or Tabourin wu a common instrument with 
the French Minstrels, as it bad also been with the Anglo- 
Saxon: (vid. p. Wix.) thus in an ancient French MS. in 
the Harl. collection (8253, 75.) a Minstrel is described aa 
riding on boraeback and bearing bis Taboar. 
" Entour son col porta son Taboar, 
Depeynt de Or, e ricbe A poor." 
See alio a passage in Menage's Diction. Etym. [v. Menes- 
trien,] where Tabour* is used a* synonymous to Meneitrirrt. 

Another frequent instrument with them was the Vale. 
This, 1 am told, is the name of an instrument at this day, 
which differs from a guitar, in th*t the player turns round 
a handle at the top of the instrument, and with his other 
baud plays on some keys that tonch the chords aud produce 
the sound. 

See Dr. Barney's account of the Vielle, vol. H. p. 203, 
who thinks tt the same with the Bote, or wheel. See page 
170 in the note. 

" II ot an Joagleor a sens, 

Sfoi navoit pas sovent robe entlere ; ' 
ovent estou sans sa Vide." 

Fabliaux et Cont. II. 184. * 



centiam gratus ezcipiens, Carmen Encomiasticon, a 
se lingua Nor vegic a (quae turn his regnis communis) 
compositum, regi dicat ; ac pro eo, duas marcas 
auri puri (pondus marc® . . 8 uncias equabat) hono- 
rarii loco retulit." [ Arngr. Jon. Rer. Islandic. lib. ii 
p. 129.] 

See more of Egill, in the " Five Pieces of Runic 
Poetry," p. 45, whose poem, there translated, is the 
most ancient piece all in rime, that is, I conceive, 
now to be found in any European language, except 
Latin. See Egil's Islandic original, printed at the 
end of the English Version in the said Five 
Pieces, flee. 

(P) " If the Saxons had not been accustomed to 
have Minstrels of their own .... and to show fa- 
vour and respect to the Danish Scalds/'] if this had 
not been the case, we may be assured, at least, that 
the stories given in the text could never have been 
recorded by writers who lived so near the Anglo- 
Saxon times as Malmesbury and Ingulphus, who, 
though they might be deceived as to particular facts, 
could not be so as to the general manners and cus- 
toms which prevailed so near their own times among 
their ancestors. 

(Q) v" In Doomesday Book," &c[ Extract ex 
Libro Domesdty: Et vid. Anstis Ord. Gart. ii. 
304. 

Glowecettesceirt. 

Fol. 16t. Col. 1. Berdic Joeulator Regit habet iii 
villat. et ibi v. ear. nil redd* 

That Joeulator is properly a Minstrel, might be 
inferred from the two foregoing passages of Geoffrey 
of Monmouth, (v. note K) where the word is used 
as equivalent to Citharista in one place, and to Can- 
tor in the other : this union forms the precise idea of 
the character. 

But more positive proofs have already offered, vid. 
supra, p. xxiv. xxix. xxx. note. See also Du 
Cange's Gloss, vol. iii. c. 1543. " Jogulator pro 
Joeulator. — Consilium Masil. an. 1381. Nullus 
Ministreys, Jogulator, audeat pinsare vel sonare 
instrumentum cujuscumque generis," flee. &c. 

As the Minstrel was termed in French Jongleur 
and Jugleur; so he was called in Spanish Jutglar 
and Juglar. " Tenemos canciones y versos para 
recitar muy antiguos y memoriae ciertas de los Jug- 
lares, que assistian en los banquetes, como los que 
pinta Homero." Prolog, a las Corned, de Cervantes, 
1749, 4to. 

" El anno 1338, en las siestas de la Coronacion 
del Rev, Don Alonso el IV. de Aragon, ... * el 
Juglar Ramaset canto una Villanesca de la Compo- 
sicion del . . . infante [Don Pedro : y otro Juglar, 
Uamado Novellet, recito y representd en vos y sin 
cantar mas de 600 versos, que hizo el Infante en el 
metro que llamaban Rima Vulgar." Ibid. 

" Los Trobadores inventaron la Gaya Ciencia . . . 
estos Trobadores eran casi todos de U primera No- 

bleza. Es verdad, que ya entonces se havian en- 

trometida entre las diversiones Cortesanos, los Con- 
tadores, los Cantoret, los Juglares, los Truanex. y los 
Bufone$:' Ibid. 

In England the King's Juglar continued to have 
an establishment in the royal household down to the 
reign of Henry VI II. [vid. Note (Co).] But in 

• " Rom ansst Jutglar canta alt venz. . .devant lo lenvc* 
I Rcy." Chron. d'Aragon, apod Da Gauge, iv. 771. 



— 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



XXSl 



what wnn the title was there applied does not ap- 
pear. In Berkley's Egloges written circ. 1514, 
Juglersand Pipers are mentioned together. Egl. iv. 
<vid T. Warton's Hist. ii. f 54.) 

(R) " A valiant warrior, named Taillefer," 6tc] 
See Du Cange, who produces this as an instance, 
" Quod Ministellorum munus interdum pnestabant 
milites probatissimi. Le Roman De Vacce, MS. 

" Quant il virent Normanz venir 
Mout veissiez Engleiz fremir. . . . 
Taillefer qui mout bien cliantoit, 
Sur un cheval, qui tost alloit, 
Devant euls aloit chantant 
De Kallemaigne et de RouUant, 
Et d'Olivier de Vassaux, 
Qui moururent en Rainschevaux. 

" Qui quidem Taillefer a Gulielmo obtinuit ut pri- 
mus in hostes irrueret, inter quos fortiter dimicando 
occubuit." Gloss, torn. iv. 769, 770. 771. 

" Les anciennes chroniaues nous apprennent, 

2u'en premier rang de 1 Armee Normande, un 
cuyer nomme Taillefer, mont6 sur un choral anne, 
chanta la Chanson de Roland, qui fut si long terns 
dans les bouches des Francois, sans qu'il soit reste" 
le moindre fragment, Le Taillefer apres avoir en- 
tonne* la chanson que les soldats repetoient, se jetta 
le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tue." [Voltaire 
Add. Hist. Univ. p. 69. 

The reader will see an attempt to restore the 
Chanson de Roland, with musical notes, in Dr. 
Barney's Hist ii. p. 276.— See more concerning the 
Song of Roland, Series the Third, p. 189. Note (m.) 

(S) " An eminent French writer," &c] " M. 
l'Eveque de la Rayaliere, qui avoit fait beaucoup de 
recherches sur nos anciennes Chansons, pretend 
que c'est a la Normandie que nous devons nos pre- 
miers Chansonniers, non a la Provence, et qu'il y 
avoit parmi nous des Chansons en langue yulgaire 
avant celles de Provencaus, mais posteneurement 
au Regne Philippe I, ou a l'an 1100." ("v. Revolu- 
tions de la Langue Francoise, a la suite aes Poesies 
du Roi de Navarre.} " Ce seroit une anteriorite de 

?lus d'une demi siecle a l v epoque des premiers 
roubadours, que leur bistorien Jean de Nostre- 
dame fixe a l'an 1162/' &o. Pref. a l'Anthologie 
Franc. 8vo. 1766. 

This subject bath since been taken up and prose- 
cuted at length in the Prefaces, &c to M. Le 
Grand's, «« Fabliaux ou Contes du xiie et du xme 
Siecle, Paris, 1788," 5 torn. 12mo. who seems 
pretty clearly to have established the priority and 
superior excellence of the old Rimeurt of the North 
of France over the Troubadours of Provence, flee. 

(S 2) " Their own native Gleemen or Minstrels 
must be allowed to exist"] Of this we have proof 
positive in the old metrical Romance of Horn-Child 
(Series the Third, No. 1, p. 192.) which although 
from the mention of Sarazens, &c. it must havebeei* 
written at least after the first crusade in 1096, yet, from 
its Anglo-Saxon language or idiom, can scarce be 
dated later than within a century after the Conquest. 
This, as appears from its very exordium, was in- 
tended to be sung to a popular audience, whether it 
was composed by, or for, a Gleeman, or Minstrel. 
But it carries all the internal marks of being the 
production of such a composer, it appears of ge- 



nuine English growth ; for, after a careful examina- 
tion, I cannot discover any allusion to French or 
Norman customs, manners, composition, or phrase- 
ology : no quotation " As the Romance sayth :" not 
a name or local reference, which was likely to occur 
to a French Rimeur. The proper names are all of 
Northern extraction: Child Horn is the son of 
Allof(i. e. Olaf or Olave) king of Sudenne ( I sup- 
pose Sweden) by his Queen Godylde or Godylu 
Athulf and Fyhenyld are the names of subjects. 
Eylmer or Aylmere is king of Westnesse, (a part of 
Ireland), Rymenytd is his daughter ; as Erminyld is 
of another king Thurstan ; whose sons are Athuld 
and Beryld. Athelbrus is steward of K. Aylmer, &c. 
&c AH these savour only of a Northern origin, 
and the whole piece is exactly such a performance 
as one would expect from a Gleeman or Minstrel of 
the North of England, who had derived his art and 
bis ideas from his Scaldic predecessors there. So 
that this probably is the original from which was 
translated the old French fragment of Dan Horn, in 
the Harleyan MS. A27, mentioned by Tyrwbitt, 
(Chaucer iv. 68.) and by T. Warton (Hist. i. 38), 
whose extract from Horn-Child is extremely in- 
correct 

Compare the style of Child-Horn with the Anglo- 
Sax on specimens in short verses and rime, which 
are assigned to the century succeeding the Con- 
quest, in Hickes's Thesaurus, torn. i. cap. 24, p. 224 
and 231. 

(T) " The different production of the sedentary 
composer and the rambling Minstrel."] Among the 
old metrical romances, a very few are addressed to 
readers, or mention reading : these appear to have 
been composed by writers at their deal, and exhibit 
marks of more elaborate structure and invention. 
Such is Fglamour of Arias (Series the third, No. 20, 

E. 194,) of which I find in a MS. copy in the Cotton 
ibrary, A 2, folio 3, the II Fitte thus concludes, 
.... thus ferr have I red. 

Such is I)Ktmydon (Series the third, No. 23, p. 195,) 
of which one of the divisions (Sign. E. ii. b. in pr. 
copy) ends thus, 

Let hym go, God him spede, 

Tyll efte-soone we of hun reed [i. e. read.'] 

So in Amys and AmyUon* (Series the third, No. 31, 
p. 195), in sta. 3d we have 

In Geste as we rede, 

and similar phrases occur in stanxas 34, 125, 140, 
196, &c 

These are all studied compositions, in which the 
story is invented with more skill and ingenuity, and 
the style and colouring are of superior cast to such 
as can with sufficient probability be attributed to the 
minstrels themselves. 

Of • this class, I conceive the romance of Horn 
Child (mentioned in the last note (S 2) and in Series 



• It ought to have been observed ia tM proper place In 
Series itae third, No. SI, p. 195, that Jms/« and Amylicn were 
no otherwise " Brothers " than at being fast friend* : as was 
suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel Pegge, who was so 
obliging atto favoc- the Essayist formerly with aeurious trans- 
cript of this poem accompanied with valuable illustrations, 
&c ; and that it was his bpic'on that both the fragment of 
the " Lady Beellesnt" men tione d fn the same No. 31, and 
also the mutilated Tale, No. STTtP* **»." w ere only imperfect 
copies of the above romance of "Amy «««! Amvltoa," 
which contains the two lines quoted ia No. 3« . 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



the Third, No. 199. p. f .) which, from the naked 
unadorned simplicity of the story, I would attribute 
to such an origin. 

But more evidently is such the Squire of Low 
Degree, (Series the third, No. 24. p. 195.) in which is 
no reference to any French original, nothing like 
the phrase, which so frequently occurs in others, " As 
the romance sayth*," or the like. And it is just 
such a rambling performance as one would expect 
from an itinerant Bard. And 

Such also is A lyttU Gette of Robyn Hade, &c. in 
8 Fyttes, of which are extant two editions, 4to, in 
black-letter, described more fully in page 21 of this 
work. This is not only of undoubted English 
growth, but, from the constant satire aimed at abbots 
and their convents, &c. could not possibly have been 
composed by any monk in his cell. 

Other instances might be produced ; but especially 
of the former kind is Syr Launfal, Series the third. 
No. 2, p. 192), the 121st. of which has 

In romances as we rede. 
This is one of the best invented stories of that kind, 
and 1 believe the only one in which is inserted the 
name of the author. 

(T 2) " Rover or Raherus the King's Minstrel."] 
He is recorded: by Leland under both these names, 
in his Collectanea, scil. vol. 1, p. 61. 

" Hospital* S. Bartholonuri in West SmitkfeLU in 
London, 
" Rover Mimus Regis fundator." 

" Hasp. Stu BarthoL Londinu 
" Raherus Mimus Regis H. 1, primus fundator, an. 
1102, 3 H. 1, qui funaavit etiam Priorat. Sti. Bar- 
thoL" Ibid, page 99. 

That Mimus is properly a Minstrel in the sense 
affixed to the word in this essay, one extract from 
the accounts f Lat. Computu | of the Priory of Max- 
tock, near Coventry, in 1441, will sufficiently show. 
— SciL " DaL Sex. Mimus Dni. Clynton cantanti- 
bus, citharisantibus, Indentions, &c liiis. (T. War- 
ton, ii. 106, note q.) The same year, the prior gave 
to a doctor predicant, for a sermon preached to them, 
onlyrjd. 

In the Monasticon, torn, ii, p. %66, 167, is a 
curious history of the founder of this priory, and 
the cause of its erection ; which seems exactly such 
a composition as one of those which were manufac- 
tured by Dr. Stone, the famous legend-maker, in 
1380 ; (see T. Warton's curious account of him, in 
vol. ii. p. 190, note,) who required no materials to 
assist him in composing his Narratives, &c. for in 
this legend are no particulars given of the founder, 
but a recital of miraculous visions exciting him to 
this pious work, of its having been before revealed 

* Wherever the word romance ocean in these metrical 
narrative!, it hath been thought to afford decisive proof of a 
translation from the romance or French language. Ac- 
cordingly It U to urged by T. Warton, (i. 146, note) from 
two passage* in the pr. copy of "Sir BgUmour," rla. 
Sign. B. L 

In romaance at we rede. 
Again in fol. nlL 

la romaance this cronycle la. 
Bat in the Cotton H8. of the original the first passage is 

As I herde a Clerke rede. 
And the other thus, 

In Rome this Gest cronycled ys. 
So that I believe references to " the Romaance," or the 
like were often mere expletive phrases inserted by the 
oral reciters ; one of whom I conceive had altered or cor- 
rupted the old "Syr Eglamoar" in the manner that the 
copy was printed. 



to King Edward the Confessor, and predicted by 
three Grecians, &c. Even his minstrel profession 
is not mentioned, whether from ignorance or design, 
as the profession was, perhaps, falling into discredit 
when this legend was written. There is only a 
general indistinct account that he frequented royal 
and noble houses, where he ingratiated himself sua- 
vitate jocularu (This last is the only word that 
seems to have any appropriated meeting.) This 
will account for the indistinct incoherent account 
given by Stow. " Rahere, a pleasant witted gentle- 
man, and therefore, in his time, called the King's 
Minstrel.' 1 — Survey of Lond. Ed. 1598, p. 308. 

(U)"In the early times, every harper was ex- 
pected to sing." J See on this subject King Alfred's 
version of Ca?dmon, above in note (H) page xxvi. 

So in Horn-Child, King Allof orders his steward 
Athelbrus to 

— teche him of harpe and of song. 

In the Squire of Lowe Degree, the king offers to 
his daughter, 

Ye shall have harpe, sautry*, and song. 

And Chaucer, in his description of the Limitour 
or Mendicant Friar, speaks of harping as inseparable 
from singing (i, p. 1 1, ver. 268.) 

— in his harping, whan that he hadde songe. 

(U 2) " As the most accomplished," &c] See 
Hoveden, p. 103, in the following passage, which 
had erroneously beeu applied to King Richard him- 
self, till Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. p. 6S,) showed 
it to belong to bis Cliancelor. " H ic ad momen- 
tum et famam sui nominis, emendicata carmma, et 
rhythmos adulatorios comparabat ; et de regno Fran- 
corum Cantores et Joculntores muneribus allexerat, 
ut de illo cancrent in plateis et jam dtcebatur uni- 
que, quod non erat talis in orbe." For other par- 
ticulars relating to this Chancelor, see T. Warton's 
Hist. vol. ii. Addit. to p. 113 of vol. L 

(US) " Both the Norman, and English languages 
would be beard at the houses of the great. '] A 
remarkable proof of this is, that the most diligent 
inquirers after ancient English rimes find the earliest 
they can discover in the mouths of the Norman 
nobles. Such as that of Robert, Earl of Leicester, 
and his Flemings in 1173, temp, Hen. 11. (little 
more than a century after the Conquest) recorded 
by Lambarde in his dictionary of England, p. 36. 

Hoppe Wy liken, hoppe Wyliken 
Ingland is thine and myne, &c. 

And that noted boast of Hugh Bigot, Earl or* Nor- 
folk, in the same reign of King Henry II. vid. Cam- 
deni Britania, (art. Suffolk) 1607, folio. 

Were I in my castle of Bungey 

Vpon the riner of Waueney 

I would ne care for the king of Cockeney. 

Indeed, many of our old metrical romances, 
whether originally English, or translated from the 
French to be sung to an English audience, are ad 
dressed to persons of high rank, as appears from 

• The Harp (Lat. Cithara) differed from the Sautry, or 
Psaltry (Lat. Pmdterium) In that the former was a uringed 
instrument, and the latter was mounted with wire : there 
was also some difference in the construction of the bellies, 
Ac. See u Bariholomsens de proprietatibns reruin," as 
Englished bv Trevisa and fiatraao, ed. 1M4, in Sir J. Haw 
kins' Hist. L ». 2M. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



XXXlft 



their beginning thus — " Listen, foldings," and the 

like These were prior to the time of Chaucer, 

as appears from rol. ui. p. 190, et seqq. And jet to 
his time our Norman nobles are supposed to hare 
adhered to their French language. 

(V) " That intercommunity, flee, between the 
French and English minstrels, &c,1 This might 
perhaps, in a great measure, be referred even to 
the Norman Conquest, when the yictors brought 
with them all their original opinions and fables; 
which could not fail to be adopted by the English 
minstrels and others, who solicited their favour. 
This interchange, &c between the minstrels of the 
two nations would be afterwards promoted by the 
great intercourse produced among all the nations of 
Christendom in the general crusades, and by that 
spirit of chivalry which led knights and their at- 
tendants, the heralds, and minstrels, ccc. to ramble 
about continually from one court to another, in order 
to be present at solemn turnaments, and other feats 
of arms* 

(V f ) " Is not the only instance," &c] The 
constant admission granted to minstrels was so es- 
tablished a privilege, that it became a ready expe- 
dient to writers of fiction. Thus, in the old ro- 
mance of Horn-Child, the Princess Rymenyld being 
confined in an inaccessible castle, the prince, her 
lover, and some assistant knights, with concealed 
arms, assume the minstrel character, and approach- 
ing the castle with their " Gleyinge" or Minstrelsy, 
are heard by the lord of it, who being informed they 
were " harpeirs, jogelers, aud fytbelers V has them 
admitted, when 

Horn sette him abenche [i. e. on a bench.] 
Is [i. e. his] harpe he gan olenche 
He made Rymenild a lay. 

This sets the princess a weeping, and leads to the 
catastrophe ; for he immediately advances to " the 
borde," or table, kills the ravisher, and releases the 
lady. 

(V 3) . ." assumed the dress and character of a 
harper, &c."] We have this curious historiette in the 
records of Lacock Nunnery, in Wiltshire, which 
bad been founded by this Countess of Salisbury. 
See Vincent's Discovery of Errors in Brooke's 
Catalogue of Nobility, etc. folio, page 445-6, flee 
Take the following extract (and see Dugdale's 
Baron, i. p. 175. ) 

" Ela uxor Gullielmi Longespee primi, nata fuit 
apud Ambresbiriam, patre et matre Normannis. 

"Pater itaoue ejus defectua senio migravit ad 
Christum, A.D. 1196. Mater ejus ante biennium 
obiit Interea Domina oharissima clam per 



• Jofcier (Lot. Jaculator) was a very ancient name for 
a Minstrel. Of what aatnre the performance of the Joeu- 
lator was, we may learn from the Ref liter of St Swithln's 
Priory at Winchester (T. Wartoa, 1. 00.) " Et cantabat 
JocoLAToa qaldam nomine Herebertas Canticam Colbrondl, 
necnon Ge$tmm J E m mt regine a Jndicio ignb liberate, in 
tola Priori*." His instrument was sonu times the Fythele, 
or. Fiddle, Lat. Fidicuia: which occurs in the Anglo-Saxon 
Lexicon. On this subject we have a carious passage from 
a MS. of the Lives of the Saints in metre, supposed to be 
earlier than the year 1200, (T. Warton's Hist. L p. 17,) via. 

Christofre him served longe 
The kynge loved melodye much of nthele and of songe : 
S«> that bis Jogcler on a day beforen him gon to pleye faste, 
4ud in a tyrae he nemped in his song the devil at laste. 



cognates adducta fuit in Normanniam, et ibidem 
sub tuta et arcta custodia nutrita. Eodem tempore 
in Anglia fuitquidam miles nomine Gulielmus J'al- 
bot, qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a 
pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et moratus per 
duos ennos, hue atque illuc vagans, ad exploran- 
dam dominam Elam Sarum, Et ilia invents exuit 
habitum Peregrini, et induit se quasi Cytharisator 
et curiam ubi morabatur intravit. Et ut erat homo 
Jocosus, in Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem 
gratanter fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et quando 
tempusaptum invenit, in Angliam repatriavit, nabens 
secum istam venerabilem dominam Elam et h&re- 
dam comitatus Sarum ; et earn Regi Richardo prae- 
sentavit. Ao ilia lstissime earn suscepit, et Fratri 
suo Guilellmo Longespee maritavit. . . • 

" AJD. If 96, Dominus Guill. Longespee primus 
nonas Martii obiit. Ela vero uxor ejus 7 annis 

supervixit Una die duo monasteria fundavit 

pruno mane xvi Kal. Maii, A.D. If 3f , apud Lacock, 
in quo sancts degunt Canonisse . . . . Et Henton 
post nonam, anno vero etatis sue xlv. flee." 

(W) For the preceding account, Dugdale refers 
to Monast. Angl. i. [r. iu] p. 185, but rives it as 
enlarged by D. Powel, in nis Hist, of Cambria, 
p. 196, who is known to have followed ancient 
Welsh MS8. The words in the Monasricon are — 
" Qui accersitis Sutoribus Cestrie et Histrionibus, 
festinanter cum exercitu suo venit domino suo facere 
succursum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem 
magnam venientem, relicta obsidione fugerunt . . . 
Et propter hoc dedit comes antedictus .... Con- 
stabulario dominationem Sutorum et Histrionum. 
Constabularius vero retinuit sibi et heredihus suis 
dominationem Sutorum : et histrionum dedit vero 
Seneschallo." (So the passage should apparently 
be pointed ; but either et or vero seems redundant.) 

We shall see below in note (Z) the proper import 
of the word HUtriones : but it is very remarkable that 
this is not the word used in the grant of the Con- 
stable De Lacy to Dutton, but " Magisterium om- 
nium Leccatorum et Meretriciumtotius Cestreshire, 
sicut liberius ilium [sic] Magisterium teneo de Co- 
mite.*' (rid. Blount's Ancient Tenures, p. 156.) 
Now, as under this grant the heirs of Dutton confes- 
sedly held for many ages a sta^utma J jurisdiction over 
all the Minstrels and Musicians of that County, and 
as it could not be conveyed by the word Meretricis, 
the natural inference is that the Minstrels were ex- 
pressed by the term l*ccatortt. It is true, Du Cange, 
compiling his Glossary, could only find in the wri- 
ters he consulted this word used in the abusive 
sense, often applied to every synonyme of the spor- 
tive and dissolute Minstrel, viz. Scum, vaniloquut, 
parasittu, epulo, occ. (This I conceive to be the 
proper arrangement of these explanations, which 
only express the character given to the Minstrel 
elsewhere : see Du Cange paaim and notes, (C) 
(E) (F) (I). But he quotes an ancient MS. in 
French metre, wherein the Leccour (Lat. Lec- 
cator) and the Minstrel are joined together, as 
receiving from Charlemagne a grant of the territory 
of Provence, and from whom the Provencal Trouba- 
dours were derived, flee. See the passage above in 
note (C) pag. xxv. 

The exception in favour of the family of Dutton 
is thus expressed in the Statute, Anno 39 Llia. chap, 
iv. entitled, "An Act for punishment of Rogues, 
Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars." 



XXXIV 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY 



i* 



§ II. . . • All Fencers, Bearwards, Common 
Players of Enterludes, and Minstrels, wandering 
abroad, (other than Players of Enterludes belonging 
to any Baron of this Realm, or any other honourable 
personage of greater degree, to be authorised to play 
under the hand and seal of arms of such Baron or 
Personage:) sdl Juglers, Tinkers, Pedlers, &c. . . • 
shall be adjudged and deemed Rogues, Vagabonds, 
and Sturdy Beggars, &c. 

" $ X. Provided always that this Act, or any 
thing therein contained, or any authority thereby 
given, shall not in any wise extend to disinherit, 
prejudice, or hinder John Dutton of Dutton, in the 
county of Chester, Esquire, his heirs or assigns, for, 
touching or concerning any liberty, preheminence, 
authority, jurisdiction, or inheritance, which the said 
John Dutton now lawfully useth, or hath, or law- 
fully may or aught to use within the County-Palatine 
of Chester, and the County of the City of Chester, 
or either of them, by reason of any ancient Charters 
»f any Kings of this Land, or by reason of any pre- 
scription, usage, or title whatsoever." 

The same clauses are renewed in the last Act on 
this subject, passed in the present Reign of Geo. 
III. 

(X) " Edward I. .... at the knighting of his 
son," &c] See Nic. Triveti Annales, Oxon. 1719, 
8vo. p. 342. 

" In festo Pentecostes Rex filium suum armis mi- 
litaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comitea Warennia? et 
Arundelis, aliosque, quorum numerus du centos et 
quadraginta dicitur excessisse. Eodem die cum se- 
aisset Rex in mensa, novis militibns circumdatus, 
ingressa Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantium mul- 
tiplici ornatu amictum, ut milites prsscipue novos 
invitarent, et inducerent, ad vovenaum actum ar- 
morum aliquod coram signo." 

( Y) " By an express regulation, 6W] See in 
Hearne's Append, ad Lelandi Collectan. vol. vi. p. 
36. " A Dietarie, Writtes published after the Ordi- 
nance of Earles and Barons, Anno Dom. 1315." 

" Edward by the grace of God, &c. to Sheriffes, 
flee, greetying. Forasmuch as. ... . many idle per- 
sons, under colour of Mynstrelsie, and going in 
messages, and other faigned busines, have ben and 
yet be receaved in other mens houses to meate and 
drynke, and be not therwith contented yf they be 
not largely consydered with gyftes of the Lordes of 

the houses : fltc We wyllyng to restrayne 

suche outrageous enterprises and idleness, flee, have 
ordeyned .... that to the houses of Prelates, Earles, 
and Barons, none resort to meate and drynke, un- 
lesse he be a Mynstrel, and of these Minstrels that 
there come none except it be three or four Minstrels 
of honour at the most in one day, unlesse he be de- 
sired of the Lorde of the House. And to the houses 
of meaner men that none come unlesse he be desired, 
and that such as shall come so, holde themselves 
contented with meate and drynke and with such cur- 
tesie as the Maister of the House wyl shewe unto 
them of his owne good wyll, without their askyng 
of any thyng. And yf any one do agaynst this Or- 
dinaunce, at the firste time he to lose bis Minstrel- 
sie, and at the second tyme to forsweare his craft, 
and never to be. receaved for a Minstrel in any 
house. .... Yeven at Langley the vi. day of August 
in the ix yere of our reigne." 

These abuses arose again to as great a height as 



ever in little more than a century after, in conse- 
quence, I suppose, of the licentiousness that 
crept in during the civil wars of York and Lan- 
caster. This appears from the Charter 9 E. IV, 
referred to in p. xlv. " Ex querulosa insinuatione. . . 
Ministrallorum nostrorum accepimus qualiter non- 
nulli rudes agricolas et artifices diversarum miste- 
rarum regni nostri Anglias, finxerunt se fore Min- 
istrallos, quorum aliqtii Liberatam nostram eis 
minime datam portareut, seipsos etiam fingentes esse 
Minstrallos nostros proprios, cujus quidem Liberate 
ac dicta? artis sive occupationis Ministrallorum 
colore, in dirersis partibus regni nostri pnedicti 
grandes pecuniarum exactiones de ligeis nostris de- 
ceptive colligunt, flic." 

Abuses of this kind prevailed much later in Wales, 
as appears from the famous Commission issued out 
in 9 Eliz. (1567), for bestowing the Silver Harp on 
the best Minstrel, Rythmer, or Bard, in the princi- 
pality of North Wales ; of which a fuller account 
will be given below in note (B b 3). 

(Z) " It is thus related by Stow.*'] See his Sur- 
vey of London, &c. fol. 1633, p. 521. [Ace. of 
Westm. Hall.] Stow had this passage from Walsing- 

ham's Hist. Ang "Intravit quedam mulier 

ornata Histrionau habitu, equum bonum insidens 
Histrionaliter phaleratum, quae mensas more Histri- 
onum circuivit ; et tandem ad Regis mensam per 
gradns ascendit, et quandam literam coram rege po- 
suit, et retracto frasno ^salutatis ubique discumben- 
tibus) prout venerat ita recessit," flee. Anglic. 
Norm. Script. flee. Franc. 1603, fol. p. 109. 

It may be observed here that Minstrels and others 
often rode 6n horseback up to the royal table, when 
the Kings were feasting in their great halls. See in 
this work, page 18. 

The answer of the Porters (when they were after- 
wards blamed for admitting her J also deserves atten- 
tion. " Non esse moris domus regis* Histriones ab 
ingressu quomodolibet prohibere," flee. Walsingh. 

That Stow rightly translated the Latin word nit- 
trio here by Minstrel, meaning a musician that sung, 
whose subjects were stories of chivalry, admits of 
easy proof: for in the Gesta Romanorum, chap.cxi. 
Mercury is represented as coming to Argus in the 
character of a Minstrel ; when he incipit, more His* 
trionico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque cantare." (T. 
Warton, iii. p. li.) And Muratori cites a passage in 
an old Italian chronicle, wherein mention is made of 

a stage erected at Milan " Super quo Histriones 

cantabant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Oli- 
verio." Antich. Ital. ii. p. 6. (Observ. on the 
Statutes, 4th. edit p. 362.) 

See also (E) pag. xxv. flee. (F) p. xxvi. flee. 

(A a) " There should seem to have been women 
of this profession."] This may be inferred from the 
variety of names appropriated to them in the middle 
ages, vis : Anglo-Sax. Ehpmeben, [Glee-maiden] 
flee, glypien^emaben, jlypbybenef rjia. vid. supra 
p. xxvi.) Fr. Jengleresse, Med. Lat. Joculatrix, Mi- 
nUtralitsa, Femina Ministerialis, flee (vid. Du Cange 
Gloss, and Suppl.) 

See what is said in page xlv. concerning the 
" sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels ;" see also a 
passage quoted by Dr. Burney (ii. 315), from Mu- 
ratori, of the Chorus of women singing through the 
streets accompanied with musical instruments in 
1268. 



) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



=* 



XXXY 



Had the female described by Walsingham been a 
Tombesttre, or dancing-woman (see Tyrwhitt's 
Chaucer, iy. 507, and v. Gloss.), that historian would 
probably- hare used the word Saltatrix. (See T, 
Warton, L 240, note m.) 

These Saltatricet were prohibited from exhibiting 
in churches and church-yards along with Joculatoret, 
Historians*, with whom they were sometimes classed, 
especially by the rigid ecclesiastics, who censored, 
in the severest terms, all these sportive characters. 
(Vid. T. Warton, in loco citato, et vide supra not 
(E) (F) &c) 

And here I would observe, that although Fauchet 
and other subsequent writers affect to arrange the 
several members of the minstrel profession, under 
the different classes of Trovsrres (or Troubadours) 
Chanterres, Conteourt, and Jugkurt&c. (vid. page lx.), 
as if they were distinct and separate orders of men, 
clearly distinguished from each other by these ap- 
propriate terms, we find no sufficient grounds for 
this in the oldest writers ; bat the general names in 
Latin, Historic, Mimus, Jocuiatcr, Ministrallus, &c. ; 
in French, Menestrier, Menextrel, Jongleur, Jueleur, 
&c ; and in English, Jogeleur, Jugler, Minstrel, and 
the like, seem to be given them indiscriminately. 
And one or other of these names seems to have been 
sometimes applied to every species of men whose 
business it was to entertain or divert (Joculari) 
whether with poesy, singing, music, or gesticula- 
tion, singly* or with a mixture of all these. Yet as 
all men of this sort were considered as belonging to 
one class, order, or community (many of the above 
arts being sometimes exercised by the same person), 
they had all of them doubtless the same privileges, 
ana it equally throws light upon the general history 
of the profession, to show what favour or encourage- 
ment was given, at any particular period of time, to 
any one branch of it. I have not therefore thought 
it needful to inquire, whether, in the various pas- 
sages quoted in these pages, the word Minstrel, &c. 
ia always to be understood in its exact and proper 
meaning of a singer to the harp, flee. 

That men of very different arts and talents were 
included under the common name of Minstrels, &c. 
appears from a variety of authorities. Thus we 
have Menestrels de Trompes, and Menestrels de Bouche, 
in the Suppl. to Du Cange, c. 1*27, and it appears 
still more evident from an old French Rhymer, 
whom I shall quote at large. 

" Le Queus* manda les Menestrels ; *Le Compte. 

Et si a fetf crier entre els, f frit. 

Qui la meillor truffe J sauroit f Sarnette, [a gibe. 

Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit (a jest, or flouting.] 

Sa robe d' escarlate neuve. 

L'uns Menestrels a l'autre reuve 



Fere son meatier, tel qu'il sot, 
Li una fet l'yvre, 1' autre sot ; 



Li una chante, li autre note ; 

Et li autres dit la note ; 

Et li autres la jenglerie $ j § Janglsris, babillage, 

Cil qui sevent de jonglerie [raiUerie. 

Violent par devant le Conte ; 

Acuns ja qui fabliaus conte 

11 i ot dit mainte risee," flee. 

Fabliaux et Conies, 12mo, torn. ii. p. 161. 

And what species of entertainment was afforded 
by the ancient JuggUun t we learn from the following 
citation from an old romance, written in 1230. 

" Quand les tables ostees furent 

C'HjuggUurs in pies esturent 



S'ont vielles, et harpes prisees 
Chansons, sons, vers, et reprises 
Et gestes, chante* nos ont." 

Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du Chene. 
See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 299, 

All the before mentioned sports went by the 
general name of Ministrakia, MinUteUorvm LwUera, 
&c<— " Charta an. 1377, apud Rymer, vii p. 160. 
Feracto autem prandio, ascendebat D.Rex in came- 
ram suam cum Pradatis, Magnatibus, et Proceribus 
pr»dicfas: et deinceps Magnates Milites, et Domini, 
alnque Generosi diem ilium, usque ad tempus ccenas, 
m Tnpedns coreis et solempnibus Ministralciis, pne 
ffaudio solempnitatis illius continuarant/ " (Du 
Cange, Gloss. 773.) [This wasat the Coronation of 
King Richard II.] 

It was common for the minstrels to dance, as well 
as to harp and sing (see above, note (E) p. lxiv.) 
I hus, in the old romance of Tirante el Blanco ; Val 
1511, the 14th cap. lib. ii. begins thus, " Despues 
que las mesas fueron alcadas viifleron los minis- 
triles ; y delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dancaron 
un rato : y despues truxeron colacion." 

They also probably, among their other feats, 
played tricks of sleight of hand, hence the word 
Jujler came to signify a performer of legerdemain : 
and it was sometimes used in this sense (to which it 
is now appropriated) even so early as the time of 
Chaucer, who in his Squire's Tale (ii. 108) speaks 
of the horse of brass, as 



like 



An apparence ymade by som magike, 
As Jogelours plaien at thise festes grete. 
See also the Frere's Tale, p. 279. y. 7049. 

(A a 2) « Females playing on the Harp."] Thus 
in the old Romance or " Syr Degore (or Degree,* 
Series the third, No. 22. p. 194.) wehave [Sign. D. L] 
The lady, that was so faire and bright, 
Upon her bed she sate down ryght j 
She harped notes swete and fine. 
[Her mayds filled a piece of wine.] 
And Syr Degore sate him downe, 
For to hear the harpes sowne. 

The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy is sup- 
plied from the folio M8. r 
In the "Souyr of lowe Degree"( Series the third.No. 
24, p. 195.) the king says to his daughter [Sign. D. L] 
Ye were wont to harpe and syng, 
And be the meryest m chamber comyng. 
In the " Carle of Carlisle," (Series the third, No. 
193, p. 29.) we have the following passage, f Folio 
MS. p. 451 , v. 217.] ^ ^^ L 

Downe came a lady faire and free. 
And sett her on the Carles knee : 
One whiles shoe harped another whiles song, 
Both of paramours and louinge among©. 
And in the Romance of " Eger and Grime" 

(Series the third, No. 12, p. 194.) we have f Ibid. 

p. 127. col. 2.] in Part I. v. 263. 

The ladye fayre of hew and hyde 

Shee sate downe by the bed side 

Shee laid a souter fpsaltry] vpon her knee 

Theron shee plaid mil lovesomelye. 

. . . And her % maydens sweetlye sange. 

A similar passage occurs in Part IV. v. 129. (page 
136.) — But these instances are sufficient. 



r 



IX XVI 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ES8AY. 



(B b) " A charter .... to appoint a Icing of the 
Minstrels."] Intitled Carta Le Roy de Ministraulx. 
An Latin Histrionet, vid. Plott, p. 457.) A copy of 
this charter is printed in Monast. Anglic, i. 355, 
and in Blount's Law. Diction. 1717. (art. King.) 

That this was a most respectable officer, both 
here and on the Continent, will appear from the 

Eassages quoted below, and therefore it could only 
ave been in modern times, when the proper mean- 
ing of the original terms Minittrault, and Hutrionet, 
was forgot, that be was called King of the Fidlers ; 
on which subject see below, Note ( E e 2). 

Concerning the King of the Minstrels we have 
the following curious passages collected by Du 
Cange, Gloss, iy 773. 

"Rex Ministellorum ; supremos inter Mmirtrf- 
l» : de cujus munere, potestate in easterns Ministellos 
agit Charta Henrici IV. Regis Anglias in Monast. 
Anglicano, torn. i. peg. 355. ■ Charta originalis 
an. 1338. Je Robert Cayeron Roy des Menestreuls 
du Royaume de France. Alias ann. 1357 et 1362. 
Copin de Brequin Roy des Menestres du Royaume 
de France. Computum de auziliis pro redemptione 
Regis Johannis, ann. 1367. Pour une Couronne 
d'argent qu'il donna le jour de la Tiphaine au Roy 
des Menestrels. 

" Regestum Magnorum Dierum Trecensium an. 
1296. Super quod Joannes dictus Charmillons 
Juglator, cui Dommus Rex per suas literas tanquam 
Regem Juglatorum in ciritateTrecensi Magisterium 
Juglatorum, quemadmodum sua* placeret voluntati, 
concesserat." Gloss, c 1587. 

There is a very curious passage in Pasquier's 
u Recherches de la France,' Paris, 1633, folio, 
liv. 7. ch. 5. p. 61 1 , wherein he appears to be at a 
loss how to account for the title of Le Roy assumed 
by the old composers of metrical Romances; in one 
of which the author expressly declares himself to 
hare been a Minstrel The solution of the difficulty, 
that he had been Le Roy des MenestreU, will be 
esteemed more probable than what Pasquier here 
advances ; for I have never seen the title of Print* 
given to a Minstrel, &c. scil. — " A nos vieux 
Poetes . . .comme . . fust qu'ils eussent certain jeux 
de prix en leurs Poesies, ils . . . . honoroient du 
nome, tantot de Roy, tantot de Prince, celuy qui 
avoit le mieux faict "comme nous voyons eotre les 
Archers, Arbalestiers, et Harquebusiers estre fait le 
semblable. Ainsi l'Autheur du Roman d'Oger le 
Danois s'appelle Roy. 

" Icy endroict est cil Livre fines 
Qui des enfans Oger est appellez 
Or vueille Diex qu'il soit parachevez 
En tel maniere kestre n'en puist blames 
Le Hoy Adams [r. Adenes] ki il' est rimes* 
*' Et en celuy de Cleomades, 

" Ce Livre de Cleomades 
Rime* je le Roy Adenes 
Menestre au bon Due Henry. 
" Mot de Roy, qui seroit tres-mal appropri6 a un 
Menestrier, si d'ailleurs on ne le rapportoit a un 
jeu du priz : Et de faict il semble que de nostre 
temps, il y en eust encores quelque remarques, en 
ce que le mot de Jouingleur a'estant par succession 
de temps rourne en batelage, nous avons veu en 
nostre jeunesse les Jouingleurs se trouver & certain 
our tous les ans en la ville de Chauny en Picardie, 
>our fcire monstre de leur mestrier devant le monde, 
a qui mieux. Et ce que j 'en dis icy n'est pas pour 
rilipender ces anciens Rimeurs, ainsi pour monstrer 

I! \ 



qu'il n'y a chose si belle qui ne s*aneantisse avec 1* 
temps. 

We see here that in the time of Pasquier the pool 
Minstrel was sunk into as low estimation in France, 
as he was then or afterwards in England : but by 
his apology for comparing the Jouingleurs, who 
assembled to exercise their faculty, in his youth, to 
the ancient Rimeun, it is plain they exerted their 
skill in rhime. 

As for King Adenes, or Adenes, (whose name in 
the first passage above is corruptly printed Adams,) 
he is recorded in the " Bibliotheques des Romans, 
Amst 1734," 12 mo. vol* i. p. 232, to have composed 
the two Romances in verses above mentioned, and a 
third entitled Le Roman de Bertm : all three being 

Preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His Bon 
hie Henry I conceive to have been Henry Duke of 
Brabant. 

(B b 2) " King of the Minstrels," &c] See 
Antis's Register of the Order of the Garter, ii. p. 303, 
who tells us " The President or Governour of the 
Minstrels had the like denomination of Roy in France 
and Burgundy: and in England, John of Gaunt 
constituted such an officer by a patent ; and long 
before his time payments were made by the crown to 
[a] King of the Minstrels by Edw. I. Regi Roberto 
Ministnulo scutifero ad anna commoranti ad vadia 
Regis anno 6to. [Bibl. Cotton. Vespas. c. 16. f. 3.] ; 
as likewise [Libro Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis 
in die nuptiarum Comitissss Holland filia* Regis, 
Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, etc. Morello Regi, 
&c. Druetto Monthant, et Jacketto de Scot. Regibus 
cuilibet eorum xl. s. Regi Pagio de Hollandia, ficc. 
Under Ed. II. we likewise find other entries, Regi 
Roberto et aliis Ministrallis fecientibus Menistrallias 
TMinistralcias qu.] suas coram Rege [Bibl. Cotton. 
Nero, c 8. p. 84. b. Comp. Garderob.J That king 
granted Wilhelmo de Moriee dicto Roy de North, 
Ministraflo Regis, domos quae fuerunt Johannis le 
Botoler dicti Roy Brunhaud. [Pat. de terr. foris- 
fact. 16 E. III.]'' He adds below (p. 304) a similar 
instance of a Rex Juglatorum, and that the " King of 
the Minstrels," at length was stvled in France Roy 
de Violins, (Furetiere Diction. Univers.) as with us 
" King of the Fidlers;" on which subject see below, 
note (E e 2). 

(B b 3) The Statute 4 Hen. IV. (1402) c. 27, 
runs in these terms, " Item, pur escbuir plusieurs 
diseases et mischiefs qont advenus devaunt ces 
heures en laterre de Gales par plusieurs Westours, 
Rymours, Minstralx et autres Yacabondes, ordeig- 
nes est et establix qe nul Weatour, Rymour, Min 
stral ne Vacabond soit aucunement sustenua en la 
terre de Gales pur faire kymortbas ou coillage sur la 
commune poeple illoeques." This is among the se- 
vere laws against the Welsh, passed during the 
resentment occasioned by the outrages committed 
under Owen Glendour; and as the Welsh Bards 
had excited their countrymen to rebellion against 
the English Government, it is not to be wondered, 
that the Act is conceived in terms of the utmost 
indignation and contempt against this class of men, 
who are described as Rymours, Ministralx, which 
are apparently here used as only synonymous terms 
to express the Welsh Bards with the usual exu- 
berance of our Acts of Parliament : for if their 3ft- 
nistralx bad been mere musicians, they would not 
have required the vigilance of the English legisla- 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



XXXVII 



tare to suppress them. It was their songs exciting 
their countrymen to insurrection which produced 
M les diseases et mischiefs en la Terre de Gales." 

It is also submitted to the reader, whether the 
same application of the terms does not still more 
clearly appear in the Commission issued in 1567, 
and printed in Evan Evans's Specimens of Welsh 
Poetry, 1764, 4to. p. v. for bestowing the Silver 
Harp on " the chief of that faculty." For after 
setting forth " that vagrant and idle persons, naming 
themselves Minstrels, Rythmert, and Bards, had lately 
grown iuto such intolerable multitude within the 
Principality in North Wales, that not only gentle- 
men and others by their shameless disorders are 
oftentimes disquieted in their habitations, but also 
expert Minstrels and Musicians in tongs and cunynge 
thereby much discouraged, &c." and " hindred [of] 
livings and preferment, flee, it appoints a time and 
place, wherein all " persons that intend to maintain 
their living by name or colour of Minstrels, Rythmert, 
>r Bards," within five shires of North Wales, " shall 
ippear to show their learnings accordingly, ficc" 
And the Commissioners are required to admit such 
as shall be found worthy, into and under the degrees 
heretofore in use, so that they may '* use, exercise, 
and follow the sciences and faculties of their pro- 
fessions in such decent order as shall appertain to 
each of their degrees." And the rest are to return 
to some honest labour, &c upon pain to be taken as 
sturdy and idle vagabonds, &c. 

(B b 4) Holingshed translated this passage from 
Tho. de.Elmham'a " Vita et Gesta Henrici V." scil. 
" Soli Omnipotenti Deo se velle victoriam imputari 
.... in tantum, quod cantus de suo triumpho fieri, 
seu per Citharistas vel alios quoscunque cantari 
penitus prohibebat." [Edit. Hearnii, 1727, p. 72.1 
As in bis version Holingshed attributes the making 
as well as singing dities to Minstrels, it is plain he 
knew that men of this profession had been accus- 
tomed to do both. 

(C o) " The Household Book," &c] See Sec- 
tion V. 
" Of the Nombre of all my lords Servaunts." 
" Item, MynstraU in Houshold iii. vis. A Taberet, 
a Luyte, ana a Rebecc." [The Rebeck was a kind 
of Fiddle with three strings.} 

8ect XL1V. S. 

" Rewardes to his lordship's Servaunts, &c" 

" Item, My lord usith ande accustomith to gyf 
yerly, when his lordschipp is at home, to bis Min- 
•traJlis that be daily in his household, as his Tabret, 
Lute, ande Rebeke, upon New Yeresday in the 
mornynge when they do play at my lordis chamber 
dour for his Lordschip and my Lady, xx. s. Vis. 
ziii. s. iiii d. for my Lord ; and vi. s. viii d. for my 
Lady, if ache be at my lords fyndynge, and not at 
hir owen ; and for playing at my lordis Sone and 
Heire-'s chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii s. And 
for playinge at the chamber doures of my lords 
Vonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after viii. d. the 
pace for every of tnem. xxiii a. iiii. d." 

Sect XLIV. 2. 

" Rewards to be geven to strangers, as Players, 
Mynsiralls, or any other, ficc. 

" F»"*st, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif to 



the Kings Jugler ; . . . . when they custome to come 
unto him yerly, vi. s. viii d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif 
rarely to the kings or queenes Bearwarae, if they 
have one, when they custom to come unto him yerly, 
VI. 8. viu. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyfe 
yerly to every Erles Mynstrellis, when they custome 
to come to hym yerely, iii. s. iiii. d. And if they 
come to my lorde seldome, ones in ii or iii yeres, 
than vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustoinedeth to gife 
yerely to an Erls Mynstralls, if he be his speciall 
lorde, friende, or kynsroan, if they come yerely to 
his lordschip .... And, if they come to my ' lord ' 
seldome, ones in ii or iii years. ..." 



" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf 
yerely a Dookes or Erlis Trumpetts, if they come vi 
together to his lordschipp, vis. if they come yerly, 
vi a. viii d. And, if they come but in ii or iii 
yeres, than x. s. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustometh to gife 
yerly, when his lordschip is at home, to gyf to the 
Kyngs Shawmes, when they com to my lorde yerely, 

X.S. 

I cannot conclude this note without observing, 
that in this enumeration the family Minstrels seem 
to have been Musicians only, and yet both the Earl's 
Trumpets and the* King's Shawmes are evidently 
distinguished from the Earl's Minstrels, and the 
King's Jugler : Now we find Jugglers still coupled 
with Pipers in Barklay's Egloges, circ 1514. (War- 
ton, ii 254.) 

(C c 2) The honours and rewards conferred on< 
Minstrels, flee, in the middle ages were excessive,, 
as will be seen by many instances in these volumes ; 
v. notes (E) (F) flee But more particularly with 
regard to English Minstrels, &c. see 1 . War- 
ton's Hist of Eng. Poetry, i p. 89—92, 116, ficc 
ii 105, 106, 254, See. Dr. Burney's Hist of Music, 
ii p. 316—319, 397—399, 427, 428. 

On this head, it may be sufficient to add the fol- 
lowing passage from toe Fleta, lib. ii c. 23. " Or- 
nciuM Elbmosinaru est».Equo* relictos, Robas, 
Pecuniam, et alia ad Elemoainam largiter recipere et 
fideliter distributee ; debet etiam Regem super Ele- 
mosine largitione crebris summonitionibus stimulare 
et precipue diebus Sanctorum, et rogare ne Robas. 
suas quae magni sunt precij Histriombus, Blandito- 
ribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, vel Mekestr al- 
ms, sed ad Elemosina? suss incrementum jubeat 
largiri." Et in c 72. " Ministrolli, vel Adulatoris." 

(D d) " A species of men who did not sing,, 
ore."] It appears from the passage of Erasmus here 
referred to, that there still existed in England of that 
species of Jongleurs or Minstrels, whom the French 
called by the peculiar name of Conttours, or Reciters 
m prose. It is in his EccUsiastes, where he is speak- 
ing of such preachers as imitated the tone of Beggars 
or Mountebanks :— " Apud Anglos est simile genus 
hominum, quale* apud Italos sunt Circulatorea 
[Mountebanks J de quibus modo dictum est; qui 
irrumpunt in convivia Maonatxjm, aut in Caufonas 
Vinabias ; etargumentum aliquod, q^uod edidiceruot, 
recitant ; puta mortem omnibus dominari, aut lauden 
matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua monosyllabic 



xxxviii 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



fere constat, quemadmodum Germanic* ; atque illi 
[sc this peculiar species of Reciters] studio vitant 
cantum, nobis (sc Erasmus, who did not understand 
a word of English) latrare videntur verius qnam 
loqui." Opera, torn. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii. 
p. 193.) As Erasmus was correcting the vice of 
Preachers, it was more to his point to bring an in- 
stance from the Moral Reciters of Prose than from 
Chanters of Rime ; though the latter would proba- 
bly be more popular, and therefore more common. 

(E e) This character is supposed to hare been 
suggested by descriptions of Minstrels in the ro- 
mance of "Morte Arthur;" but none, it seems, 
have been found, which come nearer to it than the 
following, which 1 shall produce, not only that the 
reader may jud^e of the resemblance, but to show 
how nearly the idea of the Minstrel character given 
in this ifcsay corresponds with that of our old 
writers. 

Sir Lancelot, having been affronted by a threaten- 
ing •abusive letter, which Mark King of Cornwal 
had sent to Queen Guenever, wherein he " spake 
shame by her, and Sir Lancelot," is comforted by a 
knight named 8ir Dinadan, who tells him " I will 
make a Lay for him, and when it is made, I shall 
make an Harper to sine it before him. So anon he 
went and made it, and taught it an Harper, that 
hyght Elyot ; and when hee could it, hee taught it 
to many Harpers. And so ... . the Harpers went 
straight unto Wales and Cornwtile to siog the Lay 
.... which was the worst Lay that ever Harper sung 
with harpe, or with any other instrument. And [at 
a] great feast that King Marke made for joy of [a] 
victorie which hee had, .... came Eliot the Harper ; . . 
and because he was a curious Harper, men heard 
him sing the same Lay that Sir Dinadan had made, 
the which spake the most vilanie by King Marke of 
his treason, that ever man heard. When the Harper 
had sung his song to the end, King Marke was 
wonderous wroth with him, and said, Thou Harper, 
how durst thou be so bold to sing this song before 
me ? Sir, said Eliot, wit you well I am a Minstrell, 
and 1 must doe as I am commanded of these Lords 
that / bear the armtt of. And, Sir King, wit you well 
that Sir Dinadan a knight of the Round Table made 
this song, and he made me to sing it before you. 
Thou saiest well, said King Marke, I charge thee 
that thou hie thee fast out of my sight. So the 
Harper departed, &c." [Part II. c. 113, ed. 163*. 
See also Part 111. c 5.] 

(E e 2) " This Act seems to have put an end to 
the profession," &c] Although I conceive that the 
character ceased to exist, yet the appellation might 
be continued, and applied to Fidlers, or other com- 
mon Musicians : which will account for the mistakes 
of Sir Peter Leicester, or other modern writers. 
(See his Historical Antiquities of Cheshire, 1673, 
p. 141.) 

In this sense it is used in an Ordinance in the 
limes of Cromwell, (1656,) wherein it is enacted, 
that if any of the " persons commonly called Fidlers 
or Minstrels shall at any time be taken playing, 
fidling, and making music in any Inn, Ale-house, or 
Tavern, or shall be taken proffering themselves, or 
desiring, or intreating any. . . .to bear them } lay or 
make music in any of the places aforesaid ;" they 
are to be " adjudged and declared to be rogues, vaga- 
bonds, an sturdy beggars " 



This will also account why John of Gaunt's " King 
of the Minstrels" at length came to be called, like 
Le Boy dee Violent in France, v. note (B b 2), 
" King of the Fidlers." See the common ballad 
entitled " The Pedigree, Education, and Marriage of 
Robinhood with Clorinda, Queen of Tutbury Feast :" 
which, though prefixed to the modern collection on 
that subject*, seems of much later date than most of 
the others ; for the writer appears to be totally 
ignorant of all the old traditions concerning this 
celebrated outlaw, and has given him a very elegant 
bride instead of his old noted Lemman "Maid 
Marian;" who together with his chaplain "Frier 
Tuck" were his favourite companions, and probably 
on that account figured in the old Morice Dance, as 
may be seen by the engraving in Mr. Steevens's and 
Mr. Malone's Editions of Shakespeare : by whom 
she is mentioned, 1 Hen. IV, act iii, sc. 3. (See also 
Warton, i. 245. ii. 237.) Whereas, from this ballad's 
concluding with an exhortation to " pray for the 
Kine," and " that he may get children," &c it is evi- 
dently posterior to the reign of Queen Elisabeth, and 
can scarce be older than the reign of King Charles 1 ; 
for King James I had no issue after his accession to 
the throne of England. It may even have been 
written since the Restoration, ana only express the 
wishes of the nation for issue on the marriage of 
their favourite King Charles II, on his marriage 
with the Infanta of Portugal. I think it is not found 
in the Pepys collection. 

(F " Historical Song, or Ballad."] The English 
word Ballad is evidently from the French Bakde, an 
the latter is from the Italian Ballata ; which the 
Crusca Dictionary defines, Cansone, che ii canta BaU 
lando, " A Song, which is sung during a Dance." 
So Dr. Burney, [ii. 342J who refers to a collection 
of BalUtte published by Gastaldi and printed at 
Antwerp in 1596. [iii 226.J j 

But the word appears to have had an earlier : 
origin : for in the decline of the Roman Empire 
these trivial songs were called Ballistea and Salta- 
tiunculai, BaUisteum, Salmasius says, is properly 
Ballistium, Gr. BaXAtctfov. "<bro rS BaXXi£a)^ 
.... Ba\Xt£ta Saltatio. . . . Ballistium igitur est quod 
vulgo vocamus Ballet ; nam inde deducta vox nostra.' 
Salmas. Not. m Hist Ang. Scriptores VI. p. 349. 

In the Life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. Vopis- 
cus may be seen two of these Ballistea', as sung by 
the boys skipping and dancing, on account of a ereat 
slaughter made by the Emperor with his own hand 
in the Sarmatio War. The first is, 



«« 



Mille, mille, mille decollavimus, 
Unas homo mille decollavimus, 
Mille vivat, qui mille occidit, 
Tantum vini habet nemo 
Quantum fudit sanguinis." 



• Of the twenty-four songs in what is now called " Robin 
Hood's Garland," ninny are so modern as not to be funnri it, 
Pepys' collection completed only in 1700. In the folio MS. 
(described in p. xiii.) are ancient fragments of the following, 
viz. Rubin Hood and the Beggar. — Robin Hood and the 
Butcher. — Robin Hood and Fryer Tnckc.- -Robin Hood and 
the Pindar. — Robin Hood and Queen Catharine, in two 

Earts. — Little John and the four Bt-ggars, and " Robine 
loode his death." This last, which in very enrions, has no 
resemblance to any that have been pnbUMu d ; and the oilier* 
are extremely different from the printed copies; but the) 
unfortunately are in the beginning of the MS. where half ot 
every leaf hath been torn away. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



zzruc 



The other was 



" Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos 
Semel et semel occidimus. 
Mille Persas quasrimus.'' 

Salmasius (in loc.) shows that the trivial Poets of 
that time were wont to form their metre of Trochaic 
Tetrametre Catalectics, divided into Distich s. [Ibid 
p. 350.] This becoming the Metre of the H ymns in 
the Church Service, to which the Monks at length 
superadded riming terminations, was the origin of 
the common Trochaic Metre in the modern languages. 
This observation I owe to the learned author of Irish 
Antiquities, 4to. 

(Ff2)" Little Miscellanies named Garlands," 
&c] In the Pepysian and other libraries are pre- 
served a great number of these in black letter, 12mo. 
under the following quaint and affected titles, vis. 

1. A Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses gathered 
out of England's Royal Garden, 6cc. by Richard 
Johnson, 1612. [In the Bodleian Library.] 2. The 
Golden Garland of Princely Delight. 3. The Gar- 
land of Good-will, by T. D. 1631. 4. The Royal 
Garland of Love and Delight, by T. D. 5. The 
Garland of Delight, &c. by Tho. Delone. 6. The 
Garland of I-ove and Mirth, by Thomas Lanfier. 
7. Cupid's Garland set round with Guilded Roses. 
► 8. The Garland of Withered Roses, by Martin Par- 
ker, 1666. 9. The Shepherd's Garland of Love, 
Loyalty, &c 10. The Country Garland. 11. The 
Golden Garland of Mirth and Merriment. 12. The 
Lover's Garland. 13. Neptune's fair Garland. 14. 
England's fair G arland. 1 5. Robin H ood's Garland. 
16. The Maiden's Garland. 17. A Loyal Garland 
of Mirth and Pastime. 1 8. A Royal Garland of N ew 
Songs. 19. The Jovial Garland, 8th Edit. 1691. 
Ate. &o. etc. 

This sort of petty publications had anciently the 
t name of " Penny-Merriments:" as little religious 
tracts of the same site were called '* Penny Godli- 
nesses." In the Pepysian Library, are multitudes 
of both kinds. 

(G g) " The term Minstrel was not confined to a 
mere Musician in this country any more than on the 
Continent."] The discussion of the question, Whe- 
ther the term Minstrel was applied m England to 
Singers and Composers of Songs, &o. or confined to 
the performers on musical instruments, was properly 
reserved for this place, because much light hath 
already been thrown upon the subject in the pre- 
ceding Notes, to which it will be sufficient to refer 
the Reader. 

That on the Continent the Minstrel was understood 
not to be a mere Musician, but a 8inger of Verses, 
hath been shown in Notes (B) (C) (R) (A a) &c* 
And that he was also a maker of them is evident 
from the passage in (C) p. zziv. where the most noted 
Romances are said to be of the composition of these 
men. And in ( B b) p. zzzvi. we have the Titles of 

* That the French Minstrel was s singer and composer. 
Ice. appears from many passages translated by M. Le Grand, 
In "Fabliaux ou Contes," &c see torn. i. p. 87,47.— 1J. 808, 
818 et seqq.— ill. 968, fcc. Yet this writer, like other French 
critics, endeavours to reduce to distinct and separate classes 
the men of this profession, under the precise names of 
Fablier, Conieur, Metutrier, Meneetrel, and Jongleur 
(torn. i. pref p. xcvuL), whereas his own Tales confute all 
these nice distinctions, or prove at least that the title of 
Hemtrfrr or Minstrel was applied to them alL 



some of which a Minstrel was the author, who has 
himself left bis name upon record. 

The old English names for one of this profession 
was Gleeman*, Jo gel erf, and latterly Minstrel ; not 
to mention Harper, &c. In French he was called 
Jongleur or Jugleur, Menestrel or Menettritr%. The 
writers of the middle ages expressed the character in 
Latin by the words Joculator, Mimus, Histrio, Minis- 
trellat, &c. These terms, however modern critics may 
endeavour to distinguish, and apply them to different 
classes, and although they may be sometimes men- 
tioned as if they were distinct, I cannot find after a 
very strict research to have had any settled appro- 
priate difference, but they appear to have been used 
indiscriminately by the oldest writers, especially 
in England; where the most general and com- 
prehensive name was latterly Minstrel, Lat. Minis- 
trelias, &c 

Thus Joculator (Eng. Jogeler, or Juglar) is used 
as synonymous to Citharuta Note (K. p. zzviii.) and 
to Cantor (p. zziz.) and to Minstrel (vid. infra p. 
zl.) We have also positive proof that the sub- 
jects of his songs were Gestes and Romantic Tales. 
(V 2) note. 

So Mimut isused ss synonymous to Joculator, (M) 
p. zziz. He was rewarded for his singing. (N) p. 
zzz. and he both aang, harped, and dealt in that 
sport (T 2) which is elsewhere called Art Jocutatoria, 
(M ) ubi supra. 

Again Histrio is also proved to hs ve been a singer, 
(Z) p. xxxiv. and to have gained rewards by bis Verba 
Joculatoria, (E) p. zziv. And Histrumes is the term 
by which the French word Ministrauh is most fre- 
quently rendered into Latin, (W) p. zzziii. (B b) 
p. zzzri. &o. 

The fact therefore is sufficiently established that 
this order of men were in England, as well as on the 
Continent, Singers ; so that it only becomes a dis- 
pute about words, whether here, under the more 
Sneral name of Minstrels, they are described as 
ving sung. 

But in proof of this we have only to turn to so 
common a book as T. Warton's History of English 
Poetry ; where we shall find extracted from Records 
the following instances. 

Ez Registr. Priorat. 8- Swithin Win ton. (sub anno 
1374.) *' In festo Alwyni Epi .... Et durante pie- 
tancia in Aula Conventus sex Ministrslli, cum qua- 
tuor Citharisatoribus, faciebant Ministralcias suas. 
Et post censm,in magna camera arcuata Dom. Prioris 
cantabant idem Cestem in qua Camera suspendebatur, 
ut moris est, magnum dorsale Prioris habens pictu- 
res trium Regum Colein. Veniebant autem died 
Joculatores a Castello Domini Regis et ez familia 
Epi." (vol. ii. p. 174.) Here the Minstrels and Harp- 
ers are expressly called Joculatores; and as the 
Harpers had Musical Instruments, the Singing must 
have been by the Minstrels, or by both conjointly. 

For that Minstrels sang we have undeniable proof 
in the following entry in the Accompt Roll of the 
Priory of Bicester, in Oxfordshire (under the year 
1432). " Dat Sez Ministrallis de Bokynrham can- 
tan tibus in refectorio Martyrium Septem Dorraien- 
tiura in Fasto Epiphanie, iv. s." (Vol. ii. p. 175.) 

In like manner our old English writers abound 
with passages wherein the Minstrel is represented 
as singing. To mention only a few : 

• Bee page nvtt. t See pats xxxitt. 

J See psge zzxtlL Note. * 



It 



xl 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



In the old Romance of Emar£ (Series the third, 
No. 15. p. 194) which from the obsoleteness of the 
style, the nakedness of the story, the barrenness of 
incidents, and some other particulars, I should 
judge to be next in point of time to Hornchild, we 
have 



— " I have herd Menstrelles syng yn sawe, 

Stanza 27. 



»# 



In a poem of Adam Davie (who flourished about 
1312) we have this Distich, 

" Merry it is in halle to here the harpe. 
The Minstrelles synge, the Jogelours carpe." 

T. Warton, i. p. 225. 

So William of Nassyngton (circ 1480) as quoted 
by Mr. Tyrwhitt, (Chaucer, iv. 319.) 

— '* I will make no vain carpinge 
Of dedes of armys ne of amours 
As das Minstrelles and Jestours FGeatours] 
That maky8 carpinge in many a place 
Of Octaviane and lsembrase, 
And of many other Jestes [Gestes] 
And namely whan they come to festes*. 

See also the Description of the Minstrel in note 
(E e) from Morte Arthur, which appears to have been 
compiled about the time of this last writer. (See T. 
Warton, ii. 335.) 

By proving that Minstrels were Singers of the old 
Romantic Songs and Gestes, &c. we nave in effect 
proved them to have been the makers at least of some 
of them. For the names of their Authors being not 
preserved, to whom can we so probably ascribe the 
composition of many of these old popular rhymes, as 
to the men who devoted all their time and talents to 
the recitation of them, especially as in the rhymes 
themselves Minstrels are often represented as the 
makers or composers ? 

Thus in the oldest of all, Horn-Child, having as- 
sumed the character of a Harper or Jogeler, is in 
consequence said (fo. 93.) to have 

" made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay." 

In the old Romance of Emart', we have this exhor- 
tation to Minstrels, as composers, otherwise they 
could not have been at liberty to choose their sub- 
jects, (st. 3.) 

" Menstrelles that walken fer and wyde 
Her and ther in every a syde 

In mony a dy verse londe 
Sholde ut her bygynnyng 
Speke of that rightwes kyng 

That made both see and londe." &c. 

And in the old Song or Geste of Guy and Col- 
bronde (Series the third, No. 4. p. 193.) the Minstrel 
thus speaks of himself in the first person : 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye 
Then lords and ladyes still wil be 

And sitt and solace lythe 
Then itt is time for mee to speake 
Of keene knights and kempes great 

Such carping for to kythe." 

We have seen already that the Welsh Bard$, who 
were undoubtedly composers of the songs they 

* The fondness of the English (even the most illiterate) to 
hear tales and rimes, is much dwelt on by Rob. de Branne, 
la 1130. (Warton, i. p. 50, 65, 75.) Ail rimes were then 
sang to the harp : even Troilns and Crcsscide, though almost 
as long as the ASneid, was to be '* redde....or else songe." 
L nit. i Warton I. 398.) 



chanted to the Harp, could not be distinguish**! by 
our legislators from our own Rimers, MinstrtU. V;d. 
(Bb3)p.xliii.) 

And that the Provencal Troubadour of our King 
Richard, who is called by M. Favine Jongleur, and 
by M. Fauchet Mermtrel, is by the old English 
Translator termed a Rimer or Minstrel when he is 
mentioning the fact of his composing some verses, 
(p. xxxiii.) 

^ And lastly, that Holinshed, translating the prohi- 
bition of King Henry V. forbidding any songs to be 
composed on his Victory, or to be sung by Harpers 
or others, roundly gives it, he would not permit 
"any ditties to be made and sung by Minstrels 
on his glorious Victory," &c Vid. p. xliv. and 
note (B b 4). 

Now that this order of men, at first called Gleemen, 
then Jnglers, and afterwards more generally Minstrels, 
existed here from the Conquest, who entertained their 
hearers with chanting to the harp or other instruments, 
songs and tales of chivalry, or as they were called 
Gests* and Romances in verse in the English Lan- 
guage, is proved by the existence of the very com- 
positions they so cnanted, which are still preserved 
m great abundance ; and exhibit a regular series 
from the time our language was almost Saxon, till 
after its improvements in the age of Chaucer, who 
enumerates many of them. And as the Norman 
French was in the time of this Bard still the courtly ' 
language, it shows that the English was not thereby 
excluded from affording entertainment to our no- 
bility, who are so often addressed therein by the 
title of Lordingt: and sometimes more positively 
" Lords and Ladies." 

And though many of these were translated from 
the French, others are evidently of English originf, 
which appear in their turns to have afforded versions 
into that language ; a sufficient proof of that inter- 
community between the French and English Min- 
strels, which hath been mentioned in a preceding 
page. Even the abundance of such translations 
into English, being all adapted for popular recitation, 
sufficiently establishes the fact, that the English 
Minstrels had a great demand for such compositions, 
which they were glad to supply whether from their 
own native stores, or from other languages. 

We have seen above that the Joculator, Mimus, 
Histrio, whether these characters were the same, or 
had any real difference, were all called Minstrels ; 
as was also the Harper}, when the term implied a 
singer, if not a composer, of songs, &c By degrees 
the name of Minstrel was extended to vocal and in- 
strumental musicians of every kind : and as in the 
establishment of royal and noble houses, the latter 
would necessarily be most numerous, so we are not 
to wonder that the band of music (entered under the 



* Gests at length came to signify adventures or incidents 
in general. So in a narrative of the journey into Scotland, 
of Queen Margaret and her attendants, on her marriage with 
King James IV. in 1503 [in Appendix to Leland. Collect, 
iv. p. 909,1 we are promised an account " of their Gestys 
and manners during the said voyage." 

t The romance of " Richard Cceur de Lion," (No. 25.) I 
should Judge to be of English origin from the name* War- 
drewe and Eldrede, &c vol. iii. p. 104, 105. As is also Eger 
and Grime (No. 12), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray 
Steel, and a lady who excels in surgery is called Looepame 
or Loer-pain : these surely are not derived from France. 

X See the romance of "Sir Isenbras" (voL iii. No. 14, 
p. 104) sign. a. 

Harpers loved him In Hall 
With other Minstrels all. 



general name of Minstrels) should consist of instru* 
mental performers chiefly, if not altogether : for, as 
the composer or singer of heroic tales to the harp 
would necessarily he a solitary performer, we must 
not expect to find him in the band along with the 
trumpeters, fluters, ore. 

However, as we sometimes find mention of " Min- 
strels of Music* :" so at other times we hear of 
" expert Minstrels and .Musicians of Tongue and 
Cunning," (B h S) p. xxxyiif, meaning doubtless by 
the former, singers, and probably by the latter 
phrase, composers, of songs. Even '• Minstrels 
Viusic" seems to be applied to the species of Terse 
used by Minstrels in the passage quoted belowf. 

But although, from the predominancy of instru- 
mental Music, Minstrelsy was at length chiefly to 
be understood in this sense, yet it was still applied 

* T. Warton, ii. 238, note (a) from Leland's Collect. (voL 
iv. Append, edit. 1774, p. M7.) 

t The cartons author of the M Toor in Wales, 1773," 4to. 
p. 435, I find to have read these words "In tonne and 
contrey ;" which I can scarce imagine to hare been appli- 
cable to Wales at that time. Nor can I agree with him in 
the representation be has given (p. 867,) concerning the 
Cyumtorth or meeting, wherein the Bards exerted their 
powers to excite their countrymen to war ; as if it were by 
a deduction of the particulars he enumerates, and as ft 
should seem in the way of harangue, Ac. After which, " the 

band of Minstrels struck np ; the harp, the cnoth, and 

the pipe filled the measures of enthusiasm, which the others 
had begun to inspire." Whereas it is well known, that the 
Bard chanted his enthusiastic effusions to the harp ; and as 
for the term Minstrel, it was not, I conceWe, at all used by 
the Welsh ; and in English it comprehended both the bard 
and the musician. 

X " Your ordinarie rimers use very much their measures 
in the odde, as nine and eleven, and the sharpe accent upon 
the last Billable, which therefore makes him go ill favouredly 
and like a Minstrt-ls musicke." (Puttenham's Arte of Eng. 
Poesie, 1580, p. W). This must mean his vocal music, 
otherwise it appears not applicable to the subject. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xl 



to the Poetry of Minstrels so late as the time of 
Queen Elizabeth, as appears in tide following extract 
from Puttenham's " Arte of Eng. Poesie," p. 9, 
who, speaking of the first composers of Latin verses 
in ryme, says, *' all that they wrote to the favor or 

Srayse of Princes, they did it in such manner of 
linstralsie ; and thought themselves no small fooles, 
when they could make their verses go all in ryme." 
I shall conclude this subject with the following 
description of Minstrelcy given by John lidgate at 
the beginning of the 15th century, as it shows what 
a variety of entertainments were then comprehended 
under tnis term, together with every kind of instru- 
mental Music then in use: 

— " Al maner Mynstralcye, 
That any man kan specifye. 
Ffor there were Rotys of Almayne, 
And eke of Arragon, and Spayne : 
8onges, Stampes, and eke Daunoes j 
Divers plente of plesaunoes : 
And many unkouth notys new 
Of swiche folke as lovid treue*. 
And instrumentys that did excelle, 
Many moo than I kan telle. 
Harpys, Fythales, and eke Rotys 
Well according to herp. e. their] notys, 
Lutys, Ribibles, and Geternes, 
More for estatys, than tavernes : 
Orgay [n] s, Cytolis, Monacordysv— • 
There were Trumpes, and Trumpettes, 
Lowde Shall [m] ys, and Doucettes." 

T. Warton, ii. *25. note (•). 

* By this phrase I understand, New Tales or Narrative 
Rymes composed by the Minstrels on the subject of true 
and faithful Lovers, etc* 



TBB END Of TBI XS3AY* 



* # + The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and improved since the 
first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence of some objections proposed by 
the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge, which the reader may find in the second volume of the Archaeologia, 
printed by the Antiquarian Society ; but which that gentleman has since retracted in the most liberal and 

adid manner in the third volume of the Archaeologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310. 

And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Conquest, the sub- 
sequent part hath been much enlarged, and additional light thrown upon the subject ; which, to prevent 
cavil, hath been extended to Minstrelsy in all its branches, as it was established in England, whether b» 
natives or foreigners. 



RELIQUES 



OP 



ANCIENT POETRY, &c. 

" I uever heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a 
trumpet ; and yet * it* is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than rude style : which 
beeing so evill apparelled in the dust cobweb of that uncivill age, what would it work, trimmed in the gor- 
geous eloquence of D iadane !" 

Sir Philip Sydney's Dkfenci op Poetbv, 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK I. 



TRa ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CIIASE. 



Tub fine heroic song of Chevy-Chase has ever 
been admired by competent judges. Those genuine 
strokes of nature and artless passion, which have 
endeared it to the most simple readers, have recom- 
mended it to die most refined ; and it has equally 
been the amusement of our childhood, ana the 
favorite of our riper years. 

Mr. Addison has given an excellent critique* on 
this very popular ballad, but is mistaken with regard 
to the antiquity of the common-received copy ; for 
this, if one may judge from the style, cannot be older 
than the time of Elisabeth, and was probably written 
after the eulogium of Sir Philip Sydney : perhaps in 
consequence of it. 1 flatter myself, I have here 
recovered the genuine antique poem ; the true origi- 
nal song, which appeared "rude even in the time of 
Sir Philip, and caused him to lament that it was so 
evil apparelled in the rugged garb of antiquity. 

This curiosity is printed, from an old manuscript, 
at the end of Hearae's preface to Gul. Newbrigien- 
sis Hist. 1719, 8vo. vol u To the MS. copy is sub- 
joined the name of the author, Ry chard Shealef ; 
whom Hearne had so little judgement as to suppose 
to be the same with a R. Sheale, who was living in 
1588. But whoever examines the gradation of lan- 
guage and idiom in the folowing volumes, will be 
convinced that this is the production of an earlier 
poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among some 
very ancient songs in an old book intituled, The 
Complaint of Scotland}, (fol. 42), under the title of 

• Spectator, No. It, 74. 

t Subscribed, after the usual manner of oar old poeti, 
KxpucKTH rexpticH] quoth Rtchakd Shsals. 

J One of Hie earliest productions of the Scottish press, now 
to be found. The title page was wanting in the cop> here 
•noted ; but It is supposed to have been printed in 1540. 



the Huntis of Chevet, where the two following lines 
are also quoted : 

The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette*, 
That day, that day, that gentil day f : 

which, though not quite the same as they stand in 
the ballad, yet differ not more than might be owing 
to the author's quoting from memory. Indeed , who- 
ever considers die style and orthography of this old 
poem will not be inclined to place it lower than the 
time of Henry VI. : as on the other hand the mention 
of James the Scottish Kino,$* with one or two ana- 
chronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier date. 
King James I, who was prisoner in this kingdom at 
the death of his father^, did not wear the crown of 
Scotland till the second year of our Henry VI. ||, 
but before the end of that long reign a third James 
had mounted the throne?. A succession of two 
or three Jameses, and the long detention of one of 
them in England, would render the name familiar to 
the English, and dispose a poet in those rude times 
to give it to any Scottish long he happened to men- 
ton. 

So much for the date of this old ballad : with 
regard to its subject, although it has no countenance 
from history, there is room to think it had originally 
some foundation in fact. It was one of the Laws of 
the Marches frequently renewed between the' two 
nations, that neither party should Bunt in the other's 
borders, without leave from the proprietors or their 



• See PL 9, v. S3, t See Pt 1. v. 104. J Pt. t. vSO, 140. 
< Who died Aug. 5, 1400, la the 7th. year of our Hen. IV, 
i James I. was crowned May M, 1484 ; murdered Feb. 11. 

1400-7. 

* In 1430.— Hen. VI. was deposed 1401 : testored a»4 
slain, 1471. 



<> 



I." 



I s 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



I 



deputies*. There had long been a rivalship between 
the two martial families of Percy and Douglas, 
which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have 
produced frequent challenges and struggles for supe- 
riority, petty invasions of their respective domains, 
and sharp contests for the point of honour ; which 
would not always be recorded in history. Some- 
thing of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the 
ancient ballad of the Hunting a the Cheviatf. Percy 
Earl of Northumberland had vowed to hunt for three 
days in the Scottish border, without condescending 
to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord 
of the soil, or lord warden of the marches. Douglas 
would not fail to resent the insult, and endeavour to 
repel the intruders by force : this would naturally 
produce a sharp conflict between the two parties ; 
something of which, it is probable, did really happen, 
though not attended with the tragical circumstances 
recorded in the ballad : for these are evidently bor- 
rowed from the Battle of Otterbourn$, a very different 
event, but which aftertimes would easily confound 
with it. That battle might be owing to some such 
previous affront as this of Chevy-Chase, though it 
has escaped the notice of historians. Our poet has 
evidently jumbled the two subjects together : if 
indeed the lines$, in which this mistake is made, are 
not rather spurious, and the after-insertion of some 
person, who did not distinguish between the two 
stories. 

Hearne has printed this ballad without any division 
of stanzas, in long lines, as he found it in the old 
written copy : but it is usual to find the distinction 
of stanzas neglected in ancient MSS ; where, to save 
room, two or three verses are frequently given in 
one line undivided. • See flagrant instances in the 
Horleian Catalog. No. 2253. s. 29, 34, 61, 70, * 
passim* 



THE FIRST Frr|. 

The Perse owt of Northombarlande, 

And a vowe to God mayd he. 
That he wolde hunte in the mountayna 

Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
In the mauger of doughte Dogles, 5 

And all that ever with him be. 

The fattbte hartes in all Cheviat 

He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away : 
Be my foth, sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, 

I wyll let that hontyng yf that 1 may* 10 

Then the Perse owt of Banborowe cam. 

With him a myghtye meany ; 
With fifteen hondrith archares bold.; 

The wear chosen out of shyars thre*. 



V. ft. magger in Beanie's PC. [Printed Copy]. V. 11, 
rhe the Perse, PC. V. 18, archardes bolde off blood and 
bum, PC. 

* Item. ...Concordatam est, qaod....fmJ!» antus partis 
-el alterins iugrediatnr terras, boschas, forrestas, warrenas, 
oca, dominia qiuecanque alienju partis alterius snbditi, 
tansa venandi, piftcandi, aoenpandi, disportnm aat solatium 
•a elsdem, aliaw qasecuoqoe de caosa, absque ttemtia ejus 
... .ad quent . . . loca. . . .pertinent, ant de depotatis sots prins 
•ape At vbieot Vld. flp. Nicobon's Leges Marcbiarnm, 
I70ff. 8f o, pp. 27, 51. 

t This was the original title. See the ballad, PL 1. v. 106 
PL 2. v. 103. 

See the next ballad. 

Vid. PL *. v. 167. | Fit, see ver. 100. 



This begane on a Monday at morn 

In Cheviat the hillys so he ; 
The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 

It was the mor pitte. 

The dryvars tho.iowe the woodes went 

For to reas the dear ; 
Bomen bickarte uppone the bent 

With ther browd aras cleare. 

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went 

On every syde shear : 
Grea-hondes thorowe the graves glent 

For to kyll thear dear. 

The begane in Chyviat the hyls above 

Yerly on a monnyn day ; 
Be that it drewe to the oware off none 

A hondrith at hartes ded ther lay. 

The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 
The semblyd on sydis shear ; 

To the quyrry then the Perse went 
To se the bry ttlynge off the deare. 

He savd. It was the Duglas promys 

This day to meet me hear ; 
But I wyste he wold nylle verament : 

A gret oth the Perse swear. 



15 



to 



25 



SO 



55 



At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde 

Lokyde at his hand full ny, 40 

He was war ath the doughetie Doglas comynge : 
With him a mighte meany, 



Both with spear, ' byU,' and brande : 
Yt was a myghti sight to se, 

Hardyar men both off hart nar hande 
Were not in Christiante. 



45 



The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good 

Withouten any foyle ; 
The wear borne a-long be the waiter a Twyde, 

Yth bowndes of Tividale. 50 

Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he sayde, 
And to your bowya look ye tayk good heed j 

For never sithe ye wear on your mothers borne 
Had ye never so mickle need. 

The dougheti Dogglas on a stede 55 

He rode att his men beforne ; 
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; 

A bolder barne was never born. 

Tell me * what' men ye ar, he says, 

Or whoa men that ye be : 60 

Who gave youe leave to hunte in this 

Chyviat chays in the spyt of me 1 



Y. 10,throrowe, P.C V. SI, blwe a mot, PC. V. 41, myghlte, 
PC. passim. V. 43, bryUy , PC. V. 48, withowte .... feale, 
— fs, PC. V. 54, aed. PC. Y. 59.whos.PC. 



i 



PC. V. 5S,boyi 



• B v these - aftyort fibre" Is probably meant three dis- 
tricts in Northumberland, which still go by the name o» 
rtfret, and are ali in the neighbourhood of Vheeiot. These 
are ItlandtMre, being the district so named from Holy- 
Island : Norehatmihirt, so called from the town and ca»lle 
of Noreham (or Norham) : and Bamborovgkthire, the ward 
or hundred belonging to Bamboroagh-ra*Ue and town. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, 

Yt was the good lord Pers6 : 
We wyll not tell the « what' men we ar,he says, 65 

Nor wbos men that we be ; 
But we wyll hount hear in this chaya 

In the spyte of thyne, and of the. 

The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat 

We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way. 70 
Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas agayn, 

Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day. 



Then sayd the doughte" Doglas 

Unto the lord Perse : 
To kyll all thes giltless men, 

A-las! it wear great pitte* 

But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 
I am a yerle callyd within my contre ; 

Let all our men uppone a parti stande ; 
And do the battell off the and of me. 



To 



80 



Now Cristescors on his crowne, sayd the lord Perse, 

Who-soever ther-to says nay. 
Be my troth, doughte* Doglas, he says, 

Thow flhalt never se that day ; 

Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, 85 

Nor for no man of a woman born, 
But and fortune be my chance, 

I dar met him on man for on* 

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
Ric. Wytharynton* was him nam ; 90 

It shall never be told in Sothe- Ynglonde, he says, 
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham. 

I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, 

I am a poor squyar of lande ; 
I will never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, 95 

And stande my-selffe, and looke on, 
But whyll I may my weppone welde, 

I wyU not ' fayl' both harte and hands. 

That day, that day, that dredfull day : 

The first fitf here I fynde. 100 

And youe wyll here any mor athe hountyne athe 
Yet ys ther mor behynde. [Chyviat, 

THE SECOND FIT. 

The Yneglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, 

Ther hartes were good yenoughe ; 
The first of arroa that the shote off, 

Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 

Yet bydys the yerle TtogfaTuppon the bent, ' 5 

A captayne good yenoughe, 
And that was sene verament, 

For he wrought horn both woo and wouche. 

V. 09, wboys, PC. Y. 71, any, PC. V. 81, sayd the 
the. PC. Y. 88, on, L e. one. V. S, first, L e. flight. V. 
s, byddys, PC. 

• Thb is probably corrupted in tKe MS. 'for Beg WU- 
dringtm, who was at the head of the family in the reign of 
K. Kdw. III. There were several successively of the 
names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, 
as appears from the genealogies la the Heralds office. 

t Fit. ?id Gloss. 



The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 

Lvk a cheffe cbeften off pryde, 10 

With 8U«r speares off myghtte tre 

The cum in on every syde. 

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery 

Gave many a wounde full wyde j 
Many a doughete the garde to dy, 15 

Which ganyde them no pryde. 

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
And pulde owt braudes that wer bright; 

It was a hevy syght to se 

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 30 

Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple 
Many sterne the stroke downe streight : 

Many a freyke, that was full free. 
That undar foot dyd lyght. 

At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 95 

Lyk to captayns of mygbt and mayne ; 

The swapte togethar tyll the both swat 
With swordes, that wear of fyn niyllun. 

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght 

Ther-to the wear full fiiyne, SO 

Tyll the bloode owte off their basnetes sprente, 

As ever dyd heal or rayne. 

Holde the, Perse, sayd the Doglas, 

And i' feth I shall the brynge 
Wher thowe shake have a yerls wagis S5 

Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. 

Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre, 

I hight the hear this thinge, 
For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, 

That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng. 40 

Nay ' then' sayd the lord Perse, 

I tolde it the beforne, 
That 1 wolde never yeldyde be 

To no man of a woman born. 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely 45 

Forthe off a mightie wane*. 
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas 

In at the brest bane. 

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe 

The sharp arrowe ys sane, 50 

That never after in all his lyffe days, 

He spayke mo wordes but ane, 
That was t, Eyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye 
may, 

For my lyff days ben gan. 

The Perse leanyde on his brande, 55 

And sawe the Duglas de ; 
He tooke the dede man be the hande, 

And sayd, Wo ys me for the ! 



V. 17, hoys, P. C. V. 18, brtggt, PC. V. M, thorowe, 
PC. V. 9% done, PC. V. 90, to, I. e. two. Ibid, and of, 
PC. V. 32, ran, PC. V. S3, helde, PC. V. 40, thorowe, 
PC. 

• Wane, i. e. ane, one, sc man, an arrow came from a 
mighty one : from a mighty man. 
t This seems to have been a Gloss added. 

» t 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. , 



To have sayvde thy lyffe I wold have pertyd with 
My landes for years thre f 60 

For a better man of hart, nare of hande 
Was not in all the north countre. 

Off all that se a Skottisbe knyght. 

Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, 

He saw»3he Dnglna to the deth was dyght ; 65 
He spendyd a spear a trusti tre : 

He rod uppon a corsiare 

Throughe a hondrith archery ; 
He never styntyde, nar never blane, 

Tyll he cam to the good lord Perse, 70 

He set uppone the lord Perse 

A dynte that was full soare ; 
With a suar spear of a myghte tre 

Clean thorow the body he the Perse bore, 

A the tothar syde, that a man myght se, 75 

A large clotli yard and mare : 
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiante, 

Then that day slain wear ther. 

An archar off Northomberlonde 

Say sleon Was the lord Perse, 80 

He bar a bende-bow in bis hande, 

Was made off trusti tre : 

An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, 

To th' hard stele haylde he ; 
A dynt, that was both sad and sore, 85 

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry. 

The dynt yt was both sad and sar, 

That be of Mongon-byrry sete ; 
The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, 

With his hart blood the wear wete*. 90 

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, 

But still in stour dyd stand, 
Heawving on yche othar, why 11 the myght dre, 

With many a bal-ful brande. 

This battell begane in Chyviat 95 

An owar befor the none. 
And when even song bell was rang 

The battell was nat half done* 

The tooke ' on' on ethar hand 

Be the lyght off the mone ; 100 

Many hade no strenght for to stande, 

In Chyviat the hyuys aboun. 

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde 

Went away but fifti and thre ;. 
Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, 105 

But even five and fifti : 

But all wear slayne Cheviat within : 
The hade no strengtbe to stand on hie ; 

The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, 
It was the mor pitte. 110 

V. 74, bcr, PC. V. 80, Say, i. e. Sawe, V. 84, haylde, 
PC. V. 87, sar, PC. V. 102, abon, PC. V. 108, strange. 
... by, PC. 

• This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbonrn ; 

|n which Sir Hngh Montgomery,ltnt. (son of John Lord Mont- 

©mery)w«» slain with an arrow. Virt. Crawford** Peeraee. 



I 



Thear was slayne with the lord Perse 

Sir John of Agerstone, 
Sir Roge the hinde Hartly, 

Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone. 

Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele 115 

A knyght of great renowen, 
Sir Raff the rych Rugbe 

With^dyntea wear beaten dowene. 

For Wethanyngton my harte was wo, 

That ever he slayne shulde be ; 130 

For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, 
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne. 

Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas 

Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, 
Sir Davve Lwdale, that worthe was, 125 

His sistars son was he : 

Sir Charles a Murre, in that place, 

That never a foot wolde fle ; 
£ir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was. 

With the Duglas dyd he dey. 130 

So on the morrowe the mayde them byeara 

Off byrch, and hasell so * gray' ; 
Many wedous with wepyng tears* i 

Cam to fach ther makys a-way. 

Tivydale may carpe off care, 135 

Northombarlond may mayk grat mone, 

For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear. 
On the march perti shall never be none. 

Word ys commen to Edden burrowe, 

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, 140 

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches, 

He lay slean Chyviot with-in. 

His handdes did he weal and wryng, 

He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me ! 
Such another captayn Skotland within. 

He sayd, y-fetn shud never be. 



145 



Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone 

Till the fourth Harry our kyng, 
That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the Merchia, 

He lay slayne Chyviat within. 150 

God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng Harry, 

Good lord, yf thy will it be f 
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he sayd. 

As good as ever was hee : 
But Perse, and I brook my lyffe, 155 

Thy deth well quyte shall be. 



V. 115, Ionic, PC. V. Ill, In to, i. e. in two. V. 122, 
kny, PC. V. 132, gay, PC. V. 138, mon, PC. V. 138, 
non, PC. Y. 148, ye seth, PC. V. 140, cheyff tennante, 
PC. 

Por the names la this page, see the Remarks at the end 
of the next Ballad. 

• A common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2d. v. 
155. So Harding, in his Chronicle, chap. 140, foL. 148, 
describing the death of Richard I. says, 

He fhrove him then onto Abbots thre 

With great sobbyng .... and wepyng tearet. 

So likewise Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wohey, 
chap. 12, p. 31, 4to. " When the duke heard this, he re- 
olied with weeping teare<." Ac 



i 



41 



1 •*«- 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



As our noble kyng made his a-vowe, 
Lyke a noble prince of renowen, 

For tlie deth of the lord Perse, 
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : 

Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes 

On a day wear beaten down : 
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, 

Over castill, towar, and town. 



160 



166 



i70 



This was the hontynge off the Cheviat ; 

That tear begane this spurn : 
Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, 

Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 

At Otterburn began this spume 
Uppon a monnyn day : 
| Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean, 
The Perse never went away. 

Ther was never a tym on the march partes 
Sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 

But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not, 
As the reane doys in the stret. 176 



Jhesue Christ our balys bete; 

And to the blys us brynge ! 
Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat : 

God send us all good ending ( 



180 



«+ # *Le style of this and the following ballad is 
uncommonly rugged and uncouth, owing to theii 
being writ in the very coarsest and broadest northern 

The battle of Hombyll-down, or Humbledon, was 
fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), wherein 
the English, under the command of the E. of Nor- 
thumberland, and his son Hotspur, gained a com- 
plete victory over the Scots. The village of Hum- 
bledon is one mile north-west from Wooler, in Nor- 
thumberland. The battle was fought in the field below 
the village, near the present turnpike road, in a spot 
called ever since Red-Riggs. — Humbledon is in Glen- 
dale Ward, a district so named in this county, and 
mentioned above in ver. 163. 



II. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



The only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas was 
slain fighting with a Percy, was that of Otterbourn, 
which is the subject of tnis ballad. It is here re- 
lated with the allowable partiality of an English poet, 
and much in the same manner as it is recorded in the 
English Chronicles. The Scottish writers have, 
with a partiality at least as excusable, related it no 
less in tneir own favour. Luckily we have a very 
circumstantial narrative of the whole affair from 
Froissart, a French historian, who appears to be un- 
biassed* Fnoissart's relation is prolix ; I shall there- 
fore give h, with a few corrections, as abridged by 
Carte, who has however had recourse to other autho- 
rities, and differs from Froissart in some things, 
which I shall note in the margin. 

In the twelfth year of Richard II., 1388, " The 
Scots taking advantage of the confusions of this 
nation, and falling with a party into the West- 
marches, ravaged the country about Carlisle, and 
carried off three hundred prisoners. It was with a 
much greater force, beaded by some of the principal 
nobility, that, in the beginning of August*, they 
invaded Northumberland ; and, having wasted part 
of the county of Durham f, advanced to the gates of 
Newcastle ; where, in a skirmish, they took a ' penon' 
or colours J belonging to Henry Lord Percy, sur- 
named Hotspur, son to the Earl of Northumberland. 
In their retreat home, they attacked a castle near 
Otterbourn : and, in the evening of Aug. 9, (as the 
English writers say ; or rather, according .to Frois- 
sart, Aug. 15,) after an unsuccessful assault, were 

• 

* Frtwaart speaks of both parties (consisting in all of 
more than 40,000 men) as entering England at the same 
time ; but the greater part by way of Carlisle. 

t And, according to the ballad, that part of Northumber- 
land called Bajnboroughshire; a large tract of land so 
named from the town and castle of Bamborongh, formerly the 
residence of the Northumbrian Kings. 

X This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur and 
Douglas were two young warriors much of the same age. 



surprised in their camp, which was very strong, by 
Henry, who at the first onset put them into a good 
deal of confusion. But James, Earl of Douglas, 
rallying his men, there ensued one of the best-fought 
actions that happened in that age; both armies 
showing the utmost bravery*; the Earl Douglas 
himself being slain on the spotf ; the Earl of Murrey 
mortally wounded ; and Hotspur 4 with his brother 
Ralph Percy, taken prisoners. These disasters on 
both sides have given occasion to the event of the 
engagement's being disputed ; Froissart (who derives 
his relation from a Scotch knight, two gentlemen of 
the same country, and as many of Fouc)6 affirming 
that the Scots remained masters of the field : and the 
English writers insinuating the contrary. These 
last maintain that the English had the better of the 
day : but night coming on, some of the northern 
lords, coming with the Bishop of Durham to their 
assistance, killed many of them by mistake, sup- 
posing them to be Scots ; and the Earl of Dunbar, 
at the same time falling on another side upon Hot- 
spur, took him and his brother prisoners, and carried 
them off while both parties were fighting. It is at 
least certain, that immediately after this battle the 
Scots engaged in it made the best of their way home : 



* Fioissart says the English exceeded the Scots in number 
three to one, but that these bad the advantage of the ground, 
and were also fresh from sleep, while the English were 
greatly fatigued with their previous march. 

t By Hemy L. Percy, according to this ballad, and our 
old English historians, as Stow, Speed, &c but borne down 
by numbers, if we may believe Froissart. 

| Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prisoner 
by John Lord Montgomery, whose eldest son, Sir Hugh, was 
slain in the same action with an arrow, according to Craw* 
ford's Peerage (and seems also to be alluded to in the fore- 
going ballad, but taken prisoner and exchanged for Hotspur, 
according to this ballad. 

$ Froissart (according to the Bug. Translation) says he 
had his account from two squires of England, and from a 
knight ami squire of Scotland, soon after the battle. 



1' 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



and the same party was taken by the other corps 
about Carlisle." 

Such is the account collected by Carte, in which 
he seems not to be free from partiality : for preju- 
dice must own that Froissarrs circumstantial ac- 
count carries a great appearance of truth, and he 
gives the victory to the Scots. He however does 
justice to the courage of both parties ; and repre- 
sents their mutual generosity in such a light, that 
the present age might edify by the example. " The 
Englysshmen on the one partye, and Scottes on the 
other party, are good men of wane, for whan they 
mete, there is a hard fighte without sparynge. There 
is no hoo* betwene them as long as speares, swordes, 
axes, or dager wyll endure ; but lay on eche upon 
other : and whan they be well beaten, and that the 
one jrarty hath obtayned the victory, they than 
glorifye so in i oeir dedes of armes, and are so joyfull, 
that suche as be taken, they shall be ransomed or they 
&o out of the feldef > so that shortely eche of them xa 
$o content* with other, that at their departmge cvxtoytly 
they will saye, God thank* you. But in ryghtynge one 
with another there is no playe, nor sparyngeV' Frois- 
sart's Cronycle (as translated by Sir Johan Bour- 
chier Lord Berners), cap. cxlij. 

The following Ballad is (in this present edition) 
printed from an old MS. in the Cotton Library^ 
(Cleopatra, c. iv.) and contains many stanzas more 
than were in the former copy, which was transcribed 
from a MS. in the Harleian Collection [No. 293. foL 
52.1 In the Cotton MS. this poem has no title, but 
in the Harleian copy it is thus inscribed, " A songe 
made in R. 2. his tyme of the battele of Otterburne, 
betweene Lord Henry Percye, Earle of Northom- 
berlande, and the Earle Douglas of Scotlande, 

Anno 1388." But this title is erroneous, and 

added by some ignorant transcriber of after-times : 
for, 1. The battle was not fought by the Earl of 
Northumberland, who was absent, but by his son 
Sir Henry Percy, Knt. surnamed Hotspur, (in those 
'imes they did not usually give the title of lord to an 
earl's eldest son.) 2. Although the battle was fought 
in Richard II.'s time, the song is evidently of later 
date, as appears from the poet s quoting the chron- 
icles in Pt. II. ver. 26 ; and speaking of Percy in 
die last stanza as dead. It was however written in 
all likelihood as early as the foregoing song, if not 
earlier. This perhaps may be inferred from the 
minute circumstances with which the story is related, 
many of which are recorded in no chronicle, and were 
probably preserved in the memory of old people. It 
will be observed that the authors of these two poems 
have some lines in common ; but which of them was 
the original proprietor must depend upon their prio- 
rity ; and this the sagacity of the reader must determine. 

Yt felle abowght the Lamasse tyde, 

When husbonds wynn ther haye, 
The dowhtye Dowglass bowynd hym to ryde, 

In Ynglond to take a praye : 

V. *, winn their heaye, Harl. MS. This is the Northum- 
berland phrase to this day : by which they always express 
" getting in their hay." 

* So in Langham's letter concerning Q. Elisabeth's enter- 
tainment at Kiuingworth Castle, 1979, L2ino. p. 61. " Heer 
was no ho in devout drynkyng." 

t i. e. They scorn to take the advantage, or to keep them 
lingering in long captivity. 

I The notice of this MS. I must acknowledge with many 
other obligations, owinh to the friendship of Thomas Tyr- 
whitt, Bsq. Ute Clerk of the House of Commons. 



The yerlle of Fyffe*, withowghten stryffe, 6 

He bowynd nym over Sulwayt : 
The grete wolde ever together ryde ; 

That race they may rue for aye. 

Over ' Ottercap' hvll they} came in, 

And so dowyn by Rodelyffecragge, 10 

Upon Grene ' Leyton' they lighted dowyn, 

Styrande many a staggej 

And boldely brente Northomberlonde, 

And haryed many a towyn ; 
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, 15 

To battell that were not bowyn. 

Than spake a berne upon the bent, 

Of comforts that was not oolde, 
And sayd, We have brent Northomberlond, 

We nave all welth in holde. 20 

Now we have haryed all Bamboroweshyre, 
All the welth in the worlde have wee ; 

I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, 
So styll and gtalwurthlye. 

Uppon the morowe, when it was daye, 35 

The standards schone fulle bryght ; 
To the Newe Castelle the toke the waye, 

And thether they cam fulle ryght. 

Sir Henry Percy laye at the Newe Castelle, 
I telle yow withowtten drede ; SO 

He had byn a march-many all hys dayes, 
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede. 

To the Newe Castell when they cam, 

The Skottos they cryde on hyght, 
Syr Harye Percy, and thow byste within, 35 

Com to the fylde, and fyght : 

For we have brente Northomberlonde, 

Thy eritage good and ryght ; 
And syne my logeyng I have take, 

With my brande dubbyd many a knyght. 40 

Sir Harry Percy cam to the walles, 

The Skottyssh oste for to se; 
"And thow hast brente Northomberlond, 

Full sore it rewyth me. 



V. 19 This line is corrupt in both the M8S. vis. < Many 
a styrande stage.'— Stags have been killed within the pre- 
sent century on some of the large wastes in Northumber- 
land. V. 89, tyne seems here to mean afoot. 

* Robert Stewart, second son of King Robert II. 

t i. e. " over Solway frith.*' This evidently refers to the 
other division of the Scottish army, which came In by way 

of Carlisle. Bowynd, or Bound* him : 1. e. hied him. 

Vld. Gloss. 

X They : sc the Earl of Douglas and his party. The 

several stations here mentioned are weil-known places in 
Northumberland. Ottercap-hill t» in the parish of Kirk- 
Whelplngton, in Tynedale-ward. Rodeliffe- (or as it is inure 
usually pronounced Rodeley-) Cragge is a noted cliff near 
Rodeley, a small village in the pariah of Hartburn, in Mor- 
peth ward : it lies south-east of Oucrcap, and has, within 
these few years, been distinguished by a small tower erected 
by Sir Waiter Blacket, Bart, which, In Armstrong's map 
of Northumberland, is pompously called Rorieley-caaile. 
Green Leyton is another small village in the same p»ri*h of 

Hartburn, and is south-east of Rodeley. Both the original 

MSS. rttwd here corruptly, Hoppertop and Lynton. 

'$ Marche-man. i. e. a scowret of tie marches. 



Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe ahyre, 45 
Thow hast done me grete envye ; . 

For the trespaaae thow hast me done. 
The tone of ua aohall dye." 

Where achall I byde the? sayd the Dowglaa, 
Or where wylte thow come to met 50 

w At Otterborne in the hygh way*, 
Ther maiat thow well logeed be.' 

TIte roo fall rekeles ther ache rinnea, 

To make the game and glee : 
The fawkon and the feaaunt both, 55 

Amonge on the holtea on 'hee.'. 

Ther maiat thow bare thy welth at wyll, 

Well looged ther maiat be; 
Yt achall not be long, or I com the tyll," 

Sayd Syr Harry Percye. 60 

Ther achall I byde the, sayd the Dowglaa, 
By the fayth of my bodye. 
jj Thether achall I com, aaya Syr Harry Percy; 
My trowth I plygbt to the. 

A pypc of wyne he gave them over the wallea, 65 

For aoth, aa I yow aaye : 
Ther he mayd the Dooglaa drynke, 

And aU hya oate that daye. 

The Dowglas tnrnyd hym homewarde agayne, 
For aoth withowghten naye, 70 

He tooke his loteyng at Oterborne 
Uppon a Weayns-day : 

And there he pyght hya atanderd dowyn, 

Hya getryng more and lease, 
And ayne he warned hya men to\goo 75 

To chose ther geldynga grease. 

A Skottyaahe knyght hoved upon the bent, 

A wache I dare well aaye : 
So waa he ware on the noble Percy 

In the dawnynge of the daye. 80 

He prycked to his pavyleon dore. 

As mate aa he myght ronne, 
Awaken, Dowglaa, cryed the knyght, 

For hya love, that ayttea yn trone. . 

Awaken, Dowglaa, cryed the knyght, 85 

For thow maiate waken wyth wynne : 

Yender have I apyed the prowde Percy, 
And seven atandardea wyth hym. 

Nay by my trowth, the Douglas aayed, 

It ya bat a fayned taylle : 90 

He durate not loke on my bred banner, 
For all Ynglonde so haylle. 

Waa I not yeaterdaye at the Newe Castell, 

That atonds so fayre on Tyne I 
For all the men the Percy hade, 95 

He cowde not garre me onea to dyne. 

V. 53, Roe-boeks were to be found npon the wastes not 
far from Hexham In the reign of Geo. I. - — Whitfield, 
Em., of Whitfield, is said to hare destroyed the last of them. 

V. 3ft, hye. MSS. Y. 77, npon the best bent, MS. 

• OticrtHHirn is near the old Watling-street road, In the 
parish of Elsdon. The Scots were encamped In a grassy 
plain near the river Read. The place where the Scots and 
English foaght is still called Battle Rlggs. 



i 



10 



He stepped owt at hya pavelyon dore, 

To loke and it were lease ; 
Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all, 

For here bygynnea no peysee 100 

The yerle of M entayne*, thow arte my erne, 

The forwarde I gyve to the : 
The yerlle of HunUay cawte and kene, 

He achall wyth the be. 

The lorde of Bowghanf in armnre bryght 105 

On the other hand he achall be ; 
Lord Jhonatone and lorde Maxwell, 

They to achall be with me. 

Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde 
To batell make yow bowen : 1 1C 

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde, 
Syr Jnon of Aguratone. 

▲ FYTTE. 

Thb Peraay came byfore hya oate, 

Wych waa ever a gentyu knyght, 
Upon the Dowglaa lowde can he crye, 

I wyll holde that I have hyght : 

For thow haste brente Northumberlonde, 5 

And done me"grete enrye ; 
For thya trespasse thou hast me done, 

The tone of ua achall dye. 

The Dowglas answerde hym agayne 

With grete wurds up on * hee, 
And sayd, 1 have twenty agaynat • thy' onef 

Byholde and thow maiate see. 

Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore, 

For sothe aa I yow aaye : 
[§ He lyghted dowyn upon his fote, 15 

And schoote his noraae dene away. 

Every man aawe that he dyd aoo. 

That ryall was ever in rowght ; 
Every man schoote hys horsse him froo, 

And lyght hym rowynde abowght. SO 

Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde, 
For aoth, aa I yow aaye : j^ 

Jesti Cryate in hevyn on hyght \, 

Dyd helpe hym well that daye. 

But nyne thowaand, ther was no moo ; 25 

The cronykle wyll not layne : 
Forty thowaande okottes and fowre 

That day fowght them agayne. 

But when the batell byganne to joyne, 

In beat ther came a knyght, 50 

' Then' letters fayre forth hath he tayne. 
And thus he sayd fell ryght: 

My lorde, your father he gretea yow well, 

Wyth many a noble knyght; 
He deayres yow to byde 55 

That he may aee tnya fyght. 

Y. I, IS, Pearcy. at MS. V. 4. I will hold to what I have 
promised. V. 10, hye, MSS. V. 11. the one. MS. 

* The Earl of Menteith. f The Lord Bachao. 

X He probably magnifies his strength to induce him to 
sarrender. 

$ AD that follows, Included la brackets, was not in the 
first edition. 



THE ANCIEN I BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



50 



55 



60 



65 



The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the West, 

With him a noble companye ; 
All they loge at your fathers thya nyght, 

And the battel fayne wold they see. 40 

For Jean's lore, aayd Syr Harye Percy, 

That dyed for yow and me, 
Wende to my lorde my father agayne, 

And aaye thou saw me not with yee : 

My trowfh ys plight to yonneSkottyshknyght, 45 

It nedes me not to layne, 
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent. 

And I have hys trowth agayne; 

And if that I wende off thya grownde 

For soth nnfoughten awaye, 
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght 

In hys londe another daye. 

Yet hdd I lever to be rynde and rente, 

By Mary that mykel maye ; 
Then ever my manhood scnulde be reproryd 

Wyth a Skotte another daye. 

Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake, 

And let scharpe arowes flee : 
Myn8trells, play up for your waryson, 

And well quyt it schall be. 

Every man thynke on hys trewe love, 

And marke hym to the Trenite : 
For to God I make myne avowe 

Thys day wyll I not fle. 

The blodye harte in the Dowglas armea, 

Hys standerde stode on bye ; 
That every man myght full well knowe : 

By syde stode Starres thre : 

The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte, 

Forsoth as I yow sayne ; 
The Lucette and the uressawnta both : 

The Skotts faught them agayne*.] 

Uppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye, 
And thrysse they schowte on hyght, 

And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe men, 7 5 
As I have told yow ryght. 

Bent George the bryght owr ladies knyght, 

To name theyt were full fayne, 
Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght. 

And thrysse the schowtte agayne. 

Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, 

I tell yow in sertayne ; 
Men of armea byganne to joyne ; 

Many a dowgnty man waa ther slayne. 

The Percy and die Dowglas mette, 85 

That ether of other was myne ; 
They schapped together, whyll that the swette. 

With swords of fyne Collayne ; 

* The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately embla- 
toned In the former ituu, and if the readings were. The 
crowned harte, and Above etode ttarrte thre, It would be 
minutely exact at this day.— A» for the Percy family, one 
of their ancient Badges or Cognisances was a white Jjyon 
Statant, and the Silver Creernt continues to be nsed by 
them to this day: they also give three Lucee Argent for one 
of their quarters. 

♦ i-e.the Eng»r*. 



70 



80 



Tyll the bloode from ther baasonnetU ranne, 
As the roke doth in the rayne. 90 

Yelde the to me, aayd the Dowglas, 
Or els thow schait be slayne : 

For I see, by thy bryght bassonet, 

Thow arte sum man of myght , 
And so I do by thy bumysshed brande, 95 

Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght*. 

By my mod mythe, aayd the noble Percy, 

Now baste thou rede full ryght, 
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the, 

Whyll I may stonde and fyght 100 

They swapped together, whyll that they swette, 

^ Wyth swordes scharpe and long ; 
Ych on other so faate they beette, 
Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. 

The Percy was a man of strenghth, 105 

I tell yow in thys stounde, 
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length, 

That he feile to the growynde. 

The sworde waa scharpe and sore can byte, 
I tell yow in sertayne ; 1 1G 

To the harte, he cowde hym smyte, 
Thus waa the Dowglas slayne. 

The stonderds stode styll on eke syde, 

With many a grevous grone ; 
Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght, 1 15 

And many a dowghty man waa ' alone.' 

Ther was no freke, that ther wolde flye, 

But stymy in stowre can stond, 
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye, 

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde. 1 to 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth and sertenly, 
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne. 

That daye that he cowde dye. 

The yerle Mentaye of he was slayne, 1(5 

Grysely groned uppon the growynd ; 

Syr Davy Scotte, 8yr Walter Steward, 
Sjr * John 1 of Agurstonnef. 

Syr Charlies Morrey in that place, 

That never a fote wold flye ; 130 

Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was, 

With the Dowglas dyd he dye. 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth as I yow saye, 
Of fowre and forty thowsande Scotts 13-0 

Went but eyghtene awaye. 

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde, 

For soth and sertenlye, 
A gentell knyght, Sir John Fits-hughe, 

Yt was the more petye. 140 



Y. 110, slayne, MSS. V. 124, 1. e He died that day. 

V. 143, Covelle, M.8.— For the names in this page sec 
the Remarks at the end of this ballad. 

* Being all in armour he could not know him. 

4- Onr old minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and 
Virgil do those of their heroes : 

" fortemoue Gyam, fortemqne Cloanthnm, Ac. Ac. 

Both the MS9» read here, " Sir Jam—," bnt see above, 
pt I. Yer. 112. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



,i 



i! 



I ! 



Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne, 

For hym ther hartes were sore, 
The gentyll * Lorelle' ther was slayne, 

That the Percyes standard bore. 

Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglyssh perte, 145 

For soth as 1 yow saye : 
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men 

Fyre hondert cam awaye : 

The other were slayne in the fylde, 

Cryste kepe their sowles from wo, 150 

8eyng ther was so few fxyndes 

Agaynst so many a foo. 

Then one the morne ther mayd them beeres 

Of byrch, and haysell graye ; 
Many a wydowe with wepyng teyrea 155 

Ther makes they fette awaye. 

Tbya fraye bygan at Otterbome, 

Bytwene the nyghte and the day : 
Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe, 

And the Percy was leae awaye** 160 

Then was ther a Soottyahe prisoner tayne, 
8yr Hughe Mongomery was hys name, 

For soth as I yow saye, 
He borowea the Percy home agayne t- 

Now let us all for the Percy praye 165 

To Jesn most of myght, • 

To bryng his sowle to toe blysse of heven, 
For he was a gentyll knight. 

* # * Most of the names in the two preceding bal- 
lads, are found to have belonged to families of dis- 
tinction in the North, as may be made appear from 
authentic records. Thus in 



TBB ANCIENT BALLAD OP CHEVT-CHAS*. 

Ver. 11 2, Agerstone.] The family of Haooer- 
ston of Haggerston, near Berwick, has been seated 
there for many centuries, and still remains. Thomas 
Haegerston was among the commissioners returned 
for Northumberland in 13 Hen. VI., 1433. (Fuller's 
Worthies, p. 310.) The head of this family, at 
present is, Sir Thomas Haggerston, Bart, of Hag-- 
gerston above mention. ^^— ' 

N.B. The name is spelt Agerstone, as in the text, 
in Leland's Itinerary, vol. vii. p. 54. 

Ver. 113, Hartly.] Hartley is a Tillage near the 
sea in the barony of Tinemouth, about 7 miles from 
North Shields. It probably gave name to a family 
of note at that time* 

Ver. 114, Hearone.] This family, one of the most 
ancient, was long of great consideration, in Nor- 
thumberland. Haddeston, the Caput Baronia: of 
Heron, was their ancient residence. It descended, 
25 Edw. I. to the heir general Emiline Heron, after- 
wards Baroness Darcy. — Ford, &c. and Bockenfield 
(in. com, eodum) went at the same time to Roger 



Y. 453, one, I. c on. V. 105, Pcrcyci, Hart. MS. 

• M. Captive. 

t In the Cotton 11.8. ii the following note on ver. 104, in 
an ancient hand : 

M Syr Hewe Mongomery Ukyn piisonar, was delyvered 
Air the restorynge of Penty." * 



Heron, the heir male; whose descendants were 
summoned to Parliament : Sir William Heron, of 
Ford Castle being summoned 44 Edw. III. Ford 
Castle hath descended by heirs general to the family 
of Delaval (mentioned in the next article.)— Robert 
Heron, Esq.* who died at Newark, in 1753, (father 
of the Right Hon. Sir Richard Heron, Bart,) was 
heir male of the Herons of Bockenfield, a younger 
branch of this family.—-Sir Thomas Heron Middle 
ton, Bart, is heir male of the Herons of Chip-Chase 
another branch of the Herons of Ford Castle. 

Ver. 115, Lovele.] Joh. de Levale, miles, was 
sheriff of Northumberland, 34 Hen. VII. Joh. de 
Lavele, mil. in the 1 Edw. VI. and afterwards. 
(Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson this name is spelt Da 
Lovel, p. 304. This seems to be the ancient family 
of Delaval, of Seaton Delaval, in Northumberland, 
whose ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons 
appointed to be guardians' of Magna Charts, 

Ver. 117, Rugbe.] The ancient family of Rokeby, 
in Yorkshire, seems to be here intended. In Tho- 
resby's Ducat. I eod. p. 253, fol. is a genealogy of 
this nouse, by which it appears that the head of the 
family, about the time when this ballad was written, 
wss Sir Ralph Rokeby, KnL Ralph being a com- 
mon name of the Rokebya. 

Ver. 119. Wetharrington.] Bog. de Widrington 
was sheriff of Northumberland in 36 of Edw. 111. 
(Fuller, p. 31 1.) Joh. de Widrington in 1 1 of Hen. 
IV., and many others of the same name afterwards. 
See also Nicholson, p. 331. Of this family was the 
late Lord Witherington. 

Ver. 124, Mongon-byrry.] Sir Hugh Mont- 
gomery was son of John Lord Montgomery, the 
lineal ancestor of the present Earl of Eglinton. 

Ver. 125, Lwdale.J The ancient family of the 
Liddels were originally from Scotland, where they 
were Lords of Liddel Castle, and of the barony of 
Buff. (Vid. Collins's Peerage. The head of this 
family is the present Lord Ravens worth, of Ravens- 
worth Castle, in the county of Durham. 



IN TOE BATTUB OF OTTBBBOURNB. 

Ver. 101, Mentaye.] At the time of this battle, 
the Earldom of Menteith was possessed by Robert 
Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son of King Robert II., 
who, according to Buchanan, commanded the 8cots 
that entered by Carlisle. But our minstrel had pro- 
bably an eye to the family of Graham, who had this 
earldom when the ballad was written* See Doug- 
las's Peerage of Scotland, 1764, fol. 

Ver. 103, Huntleye.] This shows tlra ballad was 
not composed before 1449 ; for in that year Alexan- 
der Lord of Gordon and Huntley was created Earl of 
Huntley by King James II. 

Ver. 105, Bowghan.] The Earl of Buchan at that 
time was Alexander Stewart, fourth son of King 
Robert II. 

Ver. 107, Jhonstone — Maxwell.] These two fami- 
lies of Johnstone, Lord of Johnston, and Maxwell, 
Lord of Maxwell, were always very powerful on the 
borders. Of the former family was Johnston Mar- 
quis of Annandale : of the latter waa Maxwell Earl 
of Nithsdale. I cannot find that any chief of this 
family was named Sir Hugh ; but Sir Herbert 
Maxwell was about this time much distinguished. 
(See Doug.) This might have been originally 
written Sir H.Maxwell, and by transcribers converted 



V- 



w 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER. 



into 8ir Hugh. So above, in No I. ▼. 90, Richard 
is contracted into Ric. 

Ver. 109, Swynton,] i. e. The Laird of Swintone ; 
a small village within the Scottish border, 3 miles 
from Norham. This family still subsists, and is very 
ancient. 

Ver. Ill, Scotte.] The illustrious family of Scot, 
ancestors of the Duke of Buccleugh, always made a 
great figure on the borders. Sir Walter Scot was at 
rhe bead of this family when the battle was fought ; 
but his great-grandson, Sir David Scot, was the hero 
of that house when the ballad was written. 

Ibid. Stewarde.1 The person here designed was 
probably 8ir Walter Stewart, Lord of Dalawinton 
and Gairlies, who was eminent at that time. (See 
Doug.) From him is descended the present Earl of 
Galloway. 

Ver. 112, Agurstone.] The seat of this family 
was sometimes subject to the Kings of Scotland. 
Thus Richardus Hagerstoun, miles, is one of the 
Scottish knights who signed a treaty with the Eng- 
lish in 1249, temp. Hen. III. (Nicholson, p. S, 



note.) It was the fate of many parts of Northum- 
berland often to change their masters, according as 
the Scottish or English arms prevailed. 

Ver. 1*9, Morrey.] The person here meant 
was probably Sir Charles Murray of Cockpoole, 
who flourished at that time, and was ancestor of the 
Murreys some time Earls of Annandale. See Doug. 



Ver. 139, Fits-hughe.] Dugdale (in his Baron, 
vol. i. p. 403) informs us that John, son of Henry 
Lord Fitahujrh, was killed at the battle of Otter- 
bourne. This was a Northumberland family. Vid. 
Dusd. p. 403, coL 1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60. 

Ver. 141, HarebotelL] Harbottle is a village 
upon the river Coquet, about 10 miles west of Roth- 
bury. The family of Harbottle was once consider- 
able in Northumberland. (See Fuller, pp, 312, 
313.) A daughter of Guiscnard Harbottle, Esq., 
married Sir Thomas Percy, knt. son of Henry, the 
fifth, and father of Thomas, the seventh, Earls ot 
Northumberland. 



iik 
the jew's daughter, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD 



— — Is founded upon the supposed practice of the 
Jews in crucifying or otherwise murthering Christian 
children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents : 
a practice which hath been always alleged in excuse 
for the cruelties exercised upon tnat wretched people, 
but which probably never happened in a single 
instance. For, if we consider, on the one hand, the 
ignorance and superstition of the times when such 
stories took their rise, the virulent prejudices of the 
monks who record them, and the eagerness with 
which they would be catched up by the barbarous 
populace as a pretence for plunder ; on the other 
hanj, the great danger incurred by the perpetrators, 
and the inadequate motives they could have to excite 
them to a crime of so much horror ; we may reason- 
ably conclude the whole charge to be groundless and 



malicious. 



The following ballad is probably built upon some 
Italian Legend, and bears a great resemblance to the 
Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer : the poet seems also to 
have had an eye to the known story of Hugb of Lin- 
coln, a child said to have been there murtbered by 
the Jews in the reign of Henry HI. The conclusion 
of this ballad appears to be wanting : what it proba- 
bly contained may be seen in Chaucer. As for 
Mirryland Toun, it is probably a corruption of 
Milan (called by the Dutch Meylandt) Town : the 
Pa is evidently the river Po, although the Adige, 
not the Po, runs through Milan. 

Printed from a MS. copy sent from Scotland. 



The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune, 

See dois it doune the Pa : 
See dois the lads of Mirry-land toune, 

Quhan they play at the ba'. 



Than out and cam the Jewis dochter, b 

8aid, Will ye cum in and dine ? 
" I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in, 

Without my play-feres nine." 

Scho nowd an apple reid and white 

To intice the song thing in : 10 

Scho powd an apple white and reid, 

And that the sweit bairne did win. 

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife, 

And low down by her gair, . 
Scho has twin'd the song thing and his life ; 15 

A word he nevir spak mair. . 

And out and cam the thick thick bluid, «■» 

And out and cam the thin ; 
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid : 

Thair was nae life left in. SO 

Scho laid him on a dressing horde, 

And drest him like a swine, 
And laughing said, Gae nou and pley 

With sour sweit play-feres nine. 

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25 

Bade him lie stil and sleip. 
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well, 

Was fifty fadom deip. 

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung, 
And every lady went bame : 30 

Than ilka lady had her song sonne, , 
Bot Lady Helen had nana. 

Scho rowd hir mantil hir about, 

And sair sair gan she weip : 
And she ran into the Jewit castel, Sb 

Quhan they wer all asteip. 



SIR CAULINE. 



ti 



My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew, 

I pray thee to me speik. 
" O lady, rinn to the aeip draw-well, 

Gin se xour sonne wad seik." 

l^ady Helen ran to the deip draw-well, 

And knelt upon her kne : 
My bonny Sir Hew, an ze be here, 

* pray thee speik to me. 



40 



" The lead ia wondrous heavy, mither. 
The well is wondrous deip, 

A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert, 
A word I dounae speik. 

Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir, 
Fetch me my windling sheet, 

And at the back o' Mirry-land toon 
Its thair we twa sail meet." 



11 
45 



50 



IV. 
SIR CAULINE. 



Tms old romantic tale was preserved in the Editor's, 
folio MS. but in so very defective and mutilated a 
condition (not from any chasm in the MS. but from 
gmit omission in the transcript, probably copied 
from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel), 
and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection 
it seemed to deserve, that the Editor was tempted to 
add several stanzas in the first part, and still more 
in (he second, to connect and complete the story in 
the manner which appeared to him most interesting 
and affecting. 

There is something peculiar in the metre of this 
old ballad : it is not unusual to meet with redundant 
stanzas of six lines ; but the occasional insertion of 
a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, &c. is an 
irregularity I do not remember to have seen else- 
where. 

It may be proper to inform the reader before be 
comes to Pt. 2, v. 110, 111, that the Bound Table 
was not peculiar to the reign of K. Arthur, but was 
common in all the ages of Chivalry. The proclaim- 
ing a great tournament (probably with some peculiar 
solemnities) was called " holding a Round Table." 
Dugdale tells us that the great baron Roger de Mor- 
timer " having procured die honour of knighthood 
to be conferred ' on his thre sons' by K. Edw. I., he, 
at bis own costs, caused a tourneament to be held at 
Kenil worth ; where he sumptuously entertained an- 
hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days ; 
the like whereof was never before in England ; and 
there began the Round Table, (so called by reason 
that the place wherein they practised those feats was 
environed with a strong wall made in a round form :) 
And upon the fourth day, the golden lion, in sign of 
triumph, being yielded to him ; he carried it (with 
all the company) to Warwick." — It may further be 
added, that Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and 
tournaments Hattiludia Mens* Rotund*. 

As to what will be observed in this ballad of the 
art of healing being practised by a young princess ; 
it is no more than wnat is usual in all the old ro- 
mances, and was conformable to real manners : it 
being a practice' derived from the earliest times 
among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, lor women 
even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of sur- 
gery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find 
the young damsels stanching the wounds of their 
lovers, and the wives those of their husbands* And 



* Sec NtKlltern Antiquities, &c. To!, i. p. 318, vol. it p* 
"W. Mtinoirci ri« h Clievultrie, torn. L p. 



even so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth, it is men- 
tioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of 
her court, that the " eldest of them are skilful in 
surgery." See Harrison's Description of England, 
prefixed to Hollingshed's Chronicle, &c 



TBS FIRST PAET. 

In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 

There dwelleth a bonnye king* ; 
And with him a yong ana comlye knighte, 

Men call him Syr Cauline. 

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter 5 

In fasnyon she hath no peere ; 
And princely wigbtes that ladye wooed 

To be theyr wedded feere. 

8yr Cauline loveth her best of all, 

But nothing durst he saye ; 10 

Ne descreeve his coftnsayl to no man. 

But deerlye he lovde tnis may. 

Till on a daye it so beffell, 

Great dill to him was dight ; 
The maydens love removde his mynd, 15 

To care-bed went the knighte. 

One while he spred his armes him fro. 

One while he spred them nye : 
And aye I but I winue that ladyes lo.ve, 

For dole now I mun dye. 20 

And whan our parish-masse was done, 

Our kinge was bowne to dyne : 
He saves, Where is Syr Cauline, 

That is wont 'to serve the wyne 1 

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25 

And fast his handea gan wringe : 
Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye 

Without a good leechinge. 

fetche me downe my daughter deere, 

She is a leecbe fulle fine : 3C 

Goe take him doughe, and the bnken bread. 
And serve him with the wyne soe red ; 
Lothe I were him to tine. 



1* 



SIR CAULINE. 



Fair Christabelle to his cbaumber goes, 

Her maydens followyng nye : 35 

O well, she sayth, bow doth my lord ? 

sicke, thou ftyr ladye. 

Nowe ryse~up wightlye, man for shame, 

Never lye soe cowardlee ; 
For it is told in my fathers haUe, 40 

You dye for love of mee. 

Fayre ladye, it is for your lore 

That all this dill I'drye: 
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 
Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 45 

No lenger wold I lye. 

Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, 

1 am his onlye heire ; 

Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 
I never can be youre fere. 50 

O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, 

And I am not thy peere, 
But let me doe some deedes of armes 

To be jour bacheleere. 

Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 55 

My bacheleere to bee, 
But ever and aye my heart wold rue, 

Giff harm ahold happe to thee, 

Upon Elridge hill there groweth a tborne, 

Upon the mores brodTnge ; 60 

And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte* 
Untill the fayre morninge? 

For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte, 

Will examine you beforne : 
And never man bare life awaye, 65 

But he did him scath and scorne 

That knighte he is a fond paynlm, 

And large of limb and bone ; 
And but if heaven may be thy speede, 

Thy life it is but gone. 70 

Nowe on the Eldridge hilles lie walke*, 

For thy sake, faire ladie ; 
And He either bring you a ready token, 

Or He never more you see. 

The lady is gone to her own chambere, 75 

Her maydens following bright: 
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
And to the Eldridge hills is gone, 

For to wake there all night. 

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 80 

He walked up and downe : 
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 

Over the bents soe browne ; 
Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart, 

I am ffor from any good towne. 85 

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, 

A furyous wight and fell ; 
A ladye bright his brydle led, 

Clad in a fayre kyrtell; 



Perb*ps wake, as in ? er. 61. 



And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 9C 

man, I rede thee flye, 

For 'but' if cryance comes till my heart, 

1 weene but thou mun dye* 

He sayth, ' No ' cryance comes till my heart, 
Nor in fayth, I wyll not flee; 9 

For, cause thou minged not Christ before, 
The less me draadeth thee. 

The Elridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 

Syr Cauline bold abode: 
Then either shooke his trustye speare, 10. 

And the timber these two children* bare 

Soe soone in sunder slode. 

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 

And layden on full faste, 
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 105 

They all were well-nye brast, 



The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, 
And stifle in stower did stande, 

But Syr Cauline with a 'backward' stroke 
He smote off his right hand; 

That soone be with peine and lacke of blond 
Fell downe on that lay-land. 



110 



Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande 

All over his head so hye : 
And here I sweare by the holy roode, 

Nowe caytiffe, thou shalt dye. 

Then up And came that ladye brightej 

Fast wringing of her bande : 
For the maydens love, that most you love, 

Withold that deadlye brande : 

For the maydens love, that most you love, 

Now smy te no more I praye ; 
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, 

He shall thy hests obaye. 

Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 

And here on this lay-land, 
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,. 

And thereto plight thy hand: 

And that thou never on Eldridge come. 

To sporte, gamon, or playe : 
And that thou here give up thy armes 

Until thy dying daye. 

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes 
With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 

And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest, 
Till the tyme that he shold dye. 

And he then up and the Eldridge knighte 

Sett him in his saddle anone, 
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye 

To theyr castle are they gone. 



115 



180 



1JX 



ISC 



135 



140 



• 1. e. Knights. See the Preface to Child Waters. 
V. 109, aukeward, MS. 



SIR CAULINE. 



J3 



Then lie tooke up the bloudy hand, 

That was bo large of hone, 
And on it he founde fire rinses of gold 

Of knightes that had be slone. 

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 

As hard aa any flint : 
And he tooke off those ringes five, 

As bright aa fyre and brent. 

Home then pricked Syr Cauline 

Aa light as leafe on tree : 
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 

Till he his lady 



145 



150 



155 



160 



165 



I 



Then downe he knelt upon his knee 

Before that lady gay : 
O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills : 

These tokens I bring away. 

Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 

Thrice welcome unto mee, 
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, 

Of valour bolde and free. 

O ladye, I am thy own true knighte, 

Thy bests for to obaye : 
And mought I hope to winne thy love ! — 

Ne more his tonge colde say. 

The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 

And fette a gentill sighe : 
Alas ! syr knight, how may this bee, 

For my degree's soe higiie 1 



But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, 
To be my batchilere, 170 

He promise if thee I may not wedde 
I will have none other fere. 

Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand 

Towards that knighte so free ; 
He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175 

His neart was brought from bale to blisse, 

The teares sterte from his ee. 

But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 

Ne let no man it knowe ; 
For and ever my father sholde it ken, 180 

I wot he wolde us sloe. 

From that day forthe that ladye fayre 

Lovde Syr Cauline, the knighte : 
From that day forthe he only joyde 

Whan shee was in his sight. 185 

Yea, and oftentimes they mette 

Within a fayre arboure, 
Where they in love and sweet daliaunce 

Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 

tit In this conclusion of the First Part, and at 
the beginning of the Second, the reader will ob- 
serve a resemblance to the story of Sigismunda and 
Guiscard, as told by Boccace and Dryden : see the 
tatter's description of the lovers meeting in the 
cave; and those beautiful lines, which contain a 
reflection so like this of our poet, " Every white," 
\c. rig 



u 



10 



15 



SO 



But as extremes are short of ill and good, 
And tides at highest mark regorge their flood ; 
So (ate, that could no more improve their joy, 
Took a malicious pleasure to destroy." 
Tancred, who fondly loved, etc" 



PART THE SECOND. 

Everye white will have its blacke, 
j And everye sweete its sowre : 
i This founde the Ladye Christabelle 
In an untimely howre. 

For ao it befelle, as Syr Cauline 

Was with that ladye faire, 
The kinge, her father, walked forthe 

To take the evenyng aire : 

And into the arboure as he went 

To rest his wearye feet, 
He found his daughter and Syr Cauline 

There sette in daliaunce sweet. 

The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 

And an angrye man was hee : 
Nowe, traytoure, thou shall hange or drawe, 

And rewe shall thy ladle. 

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, 
And throwne in dungeon deepe : 

And the layde into a towre so hye 
There left to wayle and weepe. 

The queene ahe was Syr Cauline* friend, 

And to the kinge sayd shee : 
I praye you save Syr fcaulinea life, 

And let him banisht bee. 

Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 

Across the salt sea fome : 
But here I will make thee a band, 
If ever he come within this land, 

A foule deathe is bis doome. 

All woe-begone was that gen til knight 

To parte from his ladye ; 
And many a time he sighed sore, 

And cast a wistfulle eye : 
Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 

Farre lever had I dye. 

Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, 

Was had forthe of the towre ; 
But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 
As nipt by an ungentle winde 

Doth some faire lillye flowre. 

And ever shee doth lament and weepe 

To tint her lover soe : 
Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 

But I will still be true. 

Many a kinge, and manye a duke, , 

And lorde of high degree, 
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 

But never shee wolde them nee. 

When manye a daye was past and gone, 

Ne comtorte she colde finde, 
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, 

To cheere his daughters mind : 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



SO 



i 



SIR CAD LINE. 



=1 
I 



And there came lords, and there came knights, 

Fro manye a farre countrye, 
To break a apere for theyr ladyes love 65 

Before that fair© ladyd. 



And many a ladye there was sette 

In purple and in palle : 
But fuire Christabelle soe woe-begone 

Was the fayrest of them all. 



60 




Then manye a knight was mickle of might 

Before his ladye gaye ; 
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe. 

He wan the prize echo daye. 

His acton it was all of blacke, 

His hewberke, and his sheelde, 
Ne noe man wist whence he did come, 
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, 
When they came from the feelde. 

And now three days were prestlye past 

In fentes of chivalrye, 
When lo upon the fourth mornmge 

A sorrowfulle sight they see. 

A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, 

All foulo of limbe and lere ; 
Two goggling eyen like fire mrden, 

A mouthe from eare to eare. 

Before him came a dvarffe full lowe, 

That waited on his knee. 
And at his backe five heads he bare, 

All wan and pale of blee- 

Sir, quoth (he dwarffe, and louted lowe, 

Behold that hend Soldain! 
Behold these heads I bears with me ! 

They are kings which he hath slain. 

The Eldridge knight is his own couslne. 

Whom a knight of thine hath shent : 
And hee is come to avenge his wrong, 
And to thee, all thy knightea among, 
Defiance here hath sent 

But yette he will appease his wrath 
Thy daughters love to winne ; 

And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, 
Thy halls and towers must brenne. 

Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee ; 

Or else thy daughter deere ; 
Or else within these lists soe broad 

Thou must finde him a peere. 

The Ipng he turned him round aboute, 

Arid in his heart was woe : 
Ia^ there never a knighte of my round tabid, 

This matter will undergoe t 

Is there never a knighte amongst yee all 
Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 

Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, 
Right lair his meede snail bee. 

or hee shall have my broad lay-lands, 
? And of my crowne be heyre ; 
And he shall winne fayre Chrii 
To be his wedded fere 



65 



70 



T5 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



But every knighte of his round tabid 

Did stand both still and pale : 
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

All woe-begone was that fayre ladyd, 
When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, ladye, be not afrrayd : 
He fight for thee with his grimme soldan, 

Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 



11.*. 



ISO 



140 



And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende 1*5 

Thoughe he be stiffe in stowre. 

Goe fetch him down© the Eldridge sworde, 

The king he cryde, with speede : 
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 

My daughter is thy meede. 13< 

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, 

Ana sayd, Awaye, awaye : 
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan, 

Thou lettest me here all daye. 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came 13. 

In his blacke armoure (light : 
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 

*' That this were my true knighte l N 

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be niett 

Within the lists soe broad ; 
And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 

They gan to lay on load. 

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye 14.' 

- And thrice she deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second stroke, 

And made the bloude to flowe : 
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre. 

And thrice she wept for woe. 150 

The soldan strucke a third fell stroke, 
Which brought the knighte on his knee : 

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, 
And she snriekt loud shnekings three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 15* 

All recklesse of the pain : 
Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede, 

Or else 1 shall be slaine. 

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, 
And spying a secrette part, 160 

He drave it into the soldan's syde, 
And pierced him to the heart. 



Then all the people (rave a shoute, 
Whan they sawe the soldan falle : 

The ladye wept, and thanked Christ, 
That had re skewed her from thrall. 



165 ) 



EDWARD, EDWARD 



15 



And nowe the kings with all his barons 

Rose uppe from offe his seats, 
And downs he stepped intd the listes, 

That cnrtsous knighte to greets. 170 

But he for payne and lack of bloude 

Was fallen intd a swounde. 
And there all walteringe in his gore, 

Lay lifelesse on the grounds. 

Come downe, eome downe, my daughter desre, 175 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes, 

Than this good knighte sholde spille. 



Downe then steppeth that fiiyre ladyd 

To helpe him if she maye ; 
But when she did his beavers raise, 
It is my life, my lord, she sayes, 
And shriekte and swound awaye. 



180 



Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes 
When he heard his laaye crye, 

O ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 
For thee I wisht to dye. 

Then giring her one partinge looke. 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 

Begane to drawe her breathe. 

Bat when she found her comelye knighte 

Indeed was dead and gone, I 
8he larde her pale cold cheeke to his, 

Ana thus she made her moane : 

Ofstaye, my dears and onlye lord, 
For mee thy fsithfulle feere ; 

Tie meet that I shold followe thee, 
Who hast bought my love soe deare. 

Then feyntinge in a deadlye swoune. 
And with a deepe-fett* sighe, 

That burst her gentle hearts in twayne 
Fayre Christabelle did dye* 



185 



190 



195 



too 






V. 
EDWARD, EDWARD, 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 

From a MS. copy transmitted frem Scctkmd. 



Quht dois aour brand sae drop wi' bluid, 

Edward, Edward 1 
Quhy dois sour brand sae drop wi' bluid ? 

And qtfhy. sae sad gang see, O t 
O, I has killed my hauke sae guid, 5 

Mither, mither : 
O, I has killed my hanke sae guid : 

And I had use mair hot hee, O. 

Zonr haukis bluid was nerir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward. 10 
Zour haukis bluid was nerir sae reid, 

My deir son I tell thee, O. 
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither: 
O, I hae killed my reid-roan staid* 1 5 

That erst was sae fair and free, O. 

Zonr steid was auld, and se hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour steid was auld, and se hae gat mair, 

gum other dule se drie, O. 20 

O, I hae killed my fedir deir, 

Mither, mither : 
O, I hae killed my fedir deir, , 

Alas ! and was is mee, O ! . 

And quhatten penance wul se drie for that, 25 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhatten penance will se drie for that? 

My deir son, now teU me, O. 
He set my feit in sender boat, 

Mither, mither i 50 
De set my feit in sender boat, 

And He fere orir the sea, O. 



And quhat wul se doe wi' sow to wirs and soar 
ha', 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat wul se doe wi* sour towirs and .sour 
ha', 35 

That ware sae fair to see, O? 
Be let theme stand til they doun fe', 

Mither, mither: 
Be let thame stand til they doun fe'. 

For here nerir mair maun I bee, O. 40 

And quhat wul se leire to sour bairns and sour 
wife, 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat wul se leive to sour bairns and sour 
wife, 
Quhsn se gang orir the sea, O? 
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, 45 

Mither, mither: 
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, 
For thame nerir mair wul I see, O. 

And quhat wul se leire to sour ain mither deir, 

Edward, Edward? 50 
And quhat wul se leire to sour ain mither deir? 

My deir son, now tell me, O. 
The curse of hell free me sail se beir, 

Mither, mither: 
The curse of hell frae me ssll se beir, 55 

Sic counseils se gare to me, O. 

This curious Song was transmitted to the Editor 
j by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart late Lord Hailes. 



16 



KING ESTMERE. 



VI. 
KING ESTMERE. 



This old Romantic Legend (which is given from* 
two copies, one ot* them in the Editor's folio MS, 
hut which contained very great variations,) hears 
marks of considerable antiquity, and perhaps ought 
to have taken place of any in this volume. It should 
seem to have been written while part of Spain was 
in the hands of the Saracens or Moors ; whose em- 
pire there was not fully extinguished before the year 
1491. The Mahometans are spoken of in ver. 49, &c 
just in the same terms as in all other old Romances. 
The author of the ancient Legend of Sir Bevis repre- 
sents his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out 
defiance against 

" Mahound and Termagaunte* ;" 

and so full of zeal for his religion, as to return 
the following polite message to a Pavnim king's 
fair daughter, who had fallen in love with him, and 
sent two Saracen knights to invite him to her 
bower: 

"I wyll not ones stirre off this grounds, 
To speake with an heathen hounde. 
Unchristen houndes, I rede you fie. 
Or I your harte bloud shall set." 

Indeed they return the compliment by calling him 
elsewhere "A Christen houndef." 

This was conformable to the real manners of the 
barbarous ages : perhaps the same excuse will hardly 
serve our bard ; for that the Adland should be found 
lolling or leaning at his gate Tver. 35.) may be 
thought perchance a little out of cnaracter. And yet 
the great painter of manners, Homer, did not think it 
inconsistent with decorum to represent a'king'Sf the 
Tapbians leaning at the gate of Ulysses to inquire for 
that monarch, when he touched at Ithaca as he was 
taking a voyage with a ship's cargo of iron to dispose 
in traffic^. So little ought we to judge of ancient 
manners by our own. 

Before I conclude this article, I cannot help ob- 
serving that the reader will see, in this ballaa, the 
character of the old Minstrels (those successors' of 
the Bards) placed in a very respectable light|| : here 
he will see one of them represented mounted on a 
fine horse, accompanied with an attendant to bear 
his harp after him, and to sine the poems of his com- 
posing. Here he will see him mixing in the com- 
pany of kings without ceremony : no mean proof of 
the great antiquity of this poem. The further we 
carry our inquiries back, the greater respect we find 
paid to the professors of poetry end music among all 
the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was 
deemed so sacred, that under its sanction our famous 
King Alfred (as we have already seen^T) made r no 
scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at once 
admitted to the king's head-quarters.** Our poet has 

* See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note t*t 
t Sign. C. ii. b. % Sign C. i. b. 

* Odyss, A. 105. 

H See Note subjoined to 1st Pt of Beggar of Bednal, 
ftc. 

* See the Essay on the ancient Minstrels prefixed to this 
work. 

•• Even so late as the time of Frolsssart, we And Min- 
strels and Heralds mentioned together, as those who might 
securely to Into an enemy's country. Cap. cxL 



suggested the same expedient to the heroes of this 
ballad. All the histories of the North are full of the 
great reverence paid to this order of men. Harold 
Harfagre, a celebrated king of Norway, was wont t> 
seat them at his table above all the officers of his court - 
and we find another Norwegian king placing five 
of them by his side in a day of battle, that they might 
be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to 
celebrate*. As to Estmere's riding into the hall 
while the kings were at table, this was usual in the 
ages of chivalry ; and even to this day we see a relic 
of this custom still kept up, in the champion's riding 
into Westminster-hall during the coronation dinnerf. 
Some liberties have been taken with this tale by 
the Editor, but none without notice to the reader, in 
that part which relates to the subject of the Harp©: 
and his attendant. 

Hearkbk to me, gentlemen, 

Come and you shall heare ; - 
De tell you of two of the boldest brethren 

That ever borne y-were. 

The tone of them was Adler younge, b 

The tother was Kyng Estmere ; 
The were as bolde men in their deeds, 

As any were farr and neare. 

As they were drinking ale and wine 

Within Kyng Estmeres halle : 1C 

When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, 

A wyfe to glad us all f 

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, 

And answered him hastilee : 
I know not that ladye in any land 15 

That's able* to marrye with mee. 

Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother, 

Men call her bright and sheene ; 
If I were kyng here in your stead, 

That ladye shold be my queene. SO 

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother, 

Throughout merry England, 
Where we might find a messenger 

Betwixt us towe to sende. 

Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother, £5 

He beare yon companye ; 
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived, 

And I feare lest soe shold wee. 

Thus* the renisht them to ryde 

Of twoe good renisht steeds, SO 

And when the came to King Adlands halle, 

Of redd gold shone their weeds. 



V. 3, brether, foL MS. V. 10, his brother's hall, foL MS. 
V. 14, hartilye, fot M8.-V.sr, Many a man. . is. fot. MS. 

• Bartholin! Antiq. Dan. p. 173.— Northern Antiquities 
&c rol. i. pp. 380, 380, &c. ' 

t See also the account of Edw. IL, in the Essay on the 
Minstrels, and Note (X.) 

1 He means fit, soluble. 



KING ESTMERE. 



1/ 



And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall 

Before the goodlye gate. 
There they found good Kyng Adland 

Rearing himaelte theratt. 

Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland ; 

Now Christ yon save and see, 
Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere, 

Right hartilye to mee. 

You have a daughter, said Adler younge, 
Men call her bright and sheene. 

My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, 
Of Englande to be queene. 

Yesterday was att my deere daughter 
Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne ; 

And then she nicked mm of nave, 
And I doubt sheele do you the same. 

The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim. 

And Teeveth on Mahound ; 
And pitye it were that fayre ladye 

Shold marrye a heathen hound. 

But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere, 

For my love I you praye ; 
That I may see your daughter deere 

Before I goe hence awaye. 

Although itt is seven years and more 
Since my daughter was in halle, 

8he shall come once downe for your sake 
To glad my guestes alle. 

Downe then came that mayden fayre. 

With ladyes laced in pall, 
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, 

To bring her from bowre to hall; 
And as many gentle squiers, 

To tend upon them alL 

The talents of golde were on her head sette, 
Hanged low downe to her knee ; 

And everye ring on her small finger 
8bone of the chry stall free. 

Saies, God you save, my deere madam ; 

Sates, God you save and see. 
Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, 

Bight welcome unto 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



And if you lore me, as you saye, 75 

8oe well and hartilee, 
All that ever you are comeu about 

8oone sped now itt shal bee. 

Then bespake her father deere : 

My daughter, I save naye ; 
Remember well the Kyng of Spayne ; 80 

What he sayd yesterdsye. 

He wold pull downe my belles and castles, 

And reave me of mv lyfe, 
I cannot blame him if he doe, 85 

If I reave him of his wyfe. 



Y. 40. Ta# king hi* aoone of Spayn, JbL MS. 



Your castles and your towres, father. 

Are stronglye built aboute ; 
And therefore of the King of Spaine 

Wee neede not stande in doubt. 90 

Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estm&e, 

By heaven and your righte hand, 
That you will marrye me to your wyfe. 

And make me queene of your land. 

Then King Estmere he plight his troth 95 

By heaven and his righte hand, 
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe. 

And make her queene of his land!. 

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, 

To goe to his owne countree, 100 

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, 
That marryed the might bee. 

They had not ridden scant a myle, 

A myle fortbe of the towne, 
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 105 

With kempes many one. 

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 

With manye a bold barone, 
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carrye her home. 110 

Shoe sent one after Kyng Estmere 

In all the spede might bee, 
That he must either turne againe and figbte, 

Or goe home and loose his ladye. 



One whyle then the page he went, 

Another while he ranne ; 
Till he had oretaken King Estmere, 

I wis, he never blanne. 

Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere I 
What tydinges nowe, my boyet 

O tydinges I can tell to you, 
That will you sore annoye. 

You had not ridden scant a mile, ' 

A mile out of the towne, 
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 

With kempes many a one : 



115 



140 



145 



But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 

With manye a bolde barone, 
Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carry her home. 150 

My ladye fayre she greetes you well, 

And ever-more well by mee : 
You must either turne againe and figbte, 

Or goe home and loose your ladye. 



185 



i, Reade me, reade me, deere brother. 
My reade shall ryde* at thee, 
Whether it is better to turne and figbte. 
Or go home and loose my ladye. 



V. 80, of the king hi* tonae of Spein*, fd sUL 

• Sic MS. It should probably be rym, I t n§ 
•hall arbe from thee. See ver. 140. 



18 



KINO ESTMERE. 



'> 1t> 



Now hearken to me sayes Adler yonge, 
And vour reade must rise* at me, 140 

I quicklye will devise a waye 
To sette thy ladye free. 

My mother was a westerne woman, 

And learned in gramaryet» 
And when I learned at the schole, 145 

Something ghee taught itt mee. 

There growes an hearhe within this field, 

And iff it were hut knowne, 
His color, which is whyte and redd. 

It will make hlacke and hrowne : 150 

ilia color, which is hrowne and hlacke, 

Itt will make redd and whyte ; 
That aworde is not in all Englande, 

Upon his coate will byte. 

And you shal he a harper, brother 1 55 

Out of the north countrye ; 
And lie be your boy, soe nine of fighte, 

And beare your harpe by your knee. 

And you shal be the best harper, 

That ever tooke harpe in hand ; 160 

And I wil be the best singer, 

That ever sung in this lande. 

Itt shal be written in our forheads 

All and in grammary£, 
That we towe are the boldest men, 165 

That are in all Christentyg. 

And thus they renisht them to ryde, 

On tow good renish steedes ; 
And when they came to King Adlands hall, 

Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170 

And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall, 

Untill the fayre hall yate, 
There tney found a proud ported 

Rearing himselfe thereatt. 

Saves, Christ thee save, thou proud porter; 175 

Sayes, Christ thee save and see. 
Nowe you "be welcome, sayd the porter, 

Of what land soever ye bee. 

Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge, 

Come out of the northe countrye ; 180 

Wee beene come hither untill this place, 
This proud weddinge for to see. 

Sayd, And your color were white and redd, 

As it is hlacke and browne, 
I wold saye King Estmere and his brother 185 

Were comen untill this towne. 

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, 

Layd itt on the porters arme : 
And ever we will thee, proud porter, 

Thow wilt saye us no harme. 190 

Bore he looked on Kyng Estmere, 

And sore he handled the ryng, 
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates, 

He lett for no kind of thyng. 



i 1 



Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede 195 

Soe fayre att the hall bord ; 
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte, 

Light in King Bremors beard. 

Sales, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper, 
Saies, stable nim in the stalle : 200 

It doth not beseeme a proud harper 
To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle. 

My ladde he is so lither, he said, 

He will doe nought that's meete ; 
And is there any man in this hall 905 

Were able him to beate t 

[Spaine, 
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of 

Thou harper, here to mee : 
There is a man within this halle 

Will beste thy ladd and thee. *10 

O let that man come downe, he said, 

A sight of him wold I see ; 
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd, 

Then he shall beste of mee. 

Downe then came the kemperye man J 15 

And looked him in the eare ; 
For all the gold, that was under heaven, 

He durst not neigh him neare. 

And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of Spaine, 
And how what aileth thee! £20 

He saies, It is writt in his forhead 
All and in gramarye, 

That for all the gold that is under heaven 
I dare not neigh him nye. 



Then Kyng Estmere pnlld forth his harpe. 

And plaid a pretty thinge: 
The ladye upstart from the horde, 

And wold have gone from the king. 

8tay thy harpe, thou proud harper, 

For Gods love I pray thee, 
For and thou playes as thou beginns, 

Thou'lt till* my bryde from mee. 

He stroake upon his harpe againe, 

And playd a pretty thinge ; 
The ladye lough a loud laughter, 

As shee sate by the king. 



U5 



130 



• 8ic US. T Set at the end of tab ballad, note •«•. 



2S5 



i, Sell me thy harpe, thon proud harper, 
And thy stringes all, 
For as many gold nobles 'thou shalt have' 
As heere bee ringes in the hall. % 40 

What wold ye doe with my harpe, 'he sayd,' 

If I did sell it yee? 
" To playe my wine and me a Fitt*, 

When abed together wee bee." 

Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay, €45 

As shee sitts by thy knee, 
And as many gold nobles I will give, 

As leaves been on a tree. 



Y. *OT; To stable bis steede, foL MS. 
• L e. entice. Vid. Glow, 
t 1. 1. a taut, or strain of mnsis. See Gloat. 



KING E6TMERE. 



19 



And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay, 
Itf I did sell her thee? 250 

A] ore seemelye it is for her fayre bodye 
To lye by mee then thee. 

Hee played agayne both loud and ahrille, 

And Adler ne did syng, 
«« O ladye, this U thy owne true love ; 255 

Noe harper, bat a kyng. 



" O ladye, this is thy owne true love, 
As playnlye thou mayest see ; 

And lie rid thee of that foule paynim, 
Who partes thy love and thee." 



260 



265 



270 



The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, 
" And blushte and lookt agayne, 
While Adler he hath drawne his brande, 
And hath the Sowdan slayne. 

Up then rose the kemperye men. 

And loud they gan to crye : 
Ah f traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, 

And therefore vee shall dye. 

Kyng Estmere tbrewe the harpe asyde, 

And swith he drew bis brand ; 
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge 

Right stiffe in stour can stand. 

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, 

Throughe help of Gramarye, 
That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275 

Or forst them forth to* flee. 

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, 

And marryed her to his wiflfe, 
And brought her home to merry England 

With her to leade his life. 280 

%• The word Gramarye, which occurs several 
times in the foregoing poem, is probably a corrup- 
tion of the French word Grimoire, which signifies a 
conjuring book in the old French romances, if not 
the art of necromancy itself. 

t*t Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the name 
given in the old romances to the god of the Sara- 
cens : in which he is constantly linked with Ma- 
bound, or Mahomet. Thus in the legend of Syr 
Guy, the Soudan (Sultan) swears, 



•«! 



n 



So helpe me Mahowne of might, 
And Termagaunt my God so bright.' 

Sign. p. iij. b. 

This word is derived by the very learned editor 
of Junius, from the Anglo-Saxon Tyji very, and 
CDa^an mighty. — As this word had so sublime a 
derivation, and was so applicable to the true God, 
how shall we account for its being so degraded 1 
Perhaps Tyri-maxan or Termagant had been a name 
originally given to some Saxon idol, before our an- 
cestors were converted to Christianity ; or had been 
the peculiar attribute of one of their false deities ; 
and therefore the first Christian missionaries rejected 
it as profane and improper to be applied to the true 



Ver. 253, Some liberties have been taken in the follow- 
ing stanzas; bat wherever this Edition differs from the 
preceding, it Lath been bron&ht nearer to the folio MSt 



God. Afterwards, when the irruptions of the Sa 
racens into Europe, and the Crusades into the East, 
had brought them acquainted with a new species of 
unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who thought all 
that did not receive the Christian law were neces 
sarily pagans and idolaters, supposed the Maho- 
metan creed was, in all respects, the same with that 
of their pagan forefathers, and therefore made no 
scruple to give the ancient name of Termagant to 
the God of the Saracens : just in the same manner 
as they afterwards used the name of Sarasen to ex- 
press any kind of pagan or idolater. In the ancient 
romance of Merlin* (in the Editor's folio MS.) the 
Saxons themselves that came over with Hengist, 
because they were not Christians, are constantly 
called Sarazens. 

However that be, it is certain that, after the times 
of the Crusades, both Mahound and Termagaunt 
made their frequent appearance in the pageants and 
religious enterludes of the barbarous ages ; in 
which they were exhibited with gestures so furious 
and frantic, as to become proverbial. Thus Skelton 
speaks of VVolsey : 

" Like Mahound in a play. 
No man dare him withsay." 

Ed. 1736, p. 158. 

In like manner Bale, describing the threats used 
by some papist magistrates to his wife, speaks of 
them as " grennyng upon her lyke Termagauntes in 
a playe." — [Actes of Engl. Votaryes, pt. 2, fo. 83, 
ed. 1550, 12mo.] 

Accordingly, in a letter of Edward Alleyn, the 
founder of Dulwich College, to his wife or sister*, 
who, it seems, with all her fellows (the players), had 
been " by my Lorde Maiors officer [s] mad to rid in 
a cart," he expresses his concern that she should 
" fall into the hands of such Termagants." [So the 
orig. dated May 2, 1593, preserved by the care of 
the Rev. Thomas Jenyns Smith, Fellow of Dulw. 
Coll.]— Hence we may conceive the force of Ham- 
let's expression in Shakspeare, where, condemning 
a ranting player, he says, •« I could have such a fel- 
low whipt for ore-doing Termagant : it out-herods 
Herod." A. iii. sc. 3.— By degrees, the word came 
to be applied to an outrageous turbulent person, and 
especially to a violent brawling woman ; to whom 
alone it is now confined, and this the rather as, I 
suppose, the character of Termagant was anciently 
represented on the stage after the eastern mode, with 
long robes or petticoats. 

Another frequent character in the old pageants or 
enterludes of our ancestors, was the ecwdan, or sol- 
dan, representing a grim eastern tyrant: this ap- 
pears from a curious passage in Stow's Annals 
[p. 458]. In a stage-play, " the people know right 
well, that he that plaieth the sowdain is percase a 
sowter [shoe-maker] ; yet if one should cat him by 
his owne name, while he standeth in his majestie, 
one of his tormentors might hap to break his head." 
The towdain or soldan, was a name {riven to the Sa- 
racen king (being only a more rude pronunciation 
of the word eutian), as the soldan of Egypt, the 
soudan of Persia, the sowdan of Babylon, ccc. who 
were generally represented as accompanied with 
grim Sarazens, whose business it was to punish and 
torment Christians. I cannot conclude this short 
memoir, without observing that the French roman* 



1 1 



• See Lysons's " Environs of London, 4to, voL L 

o t 



♦X 






i* 



8IR PATRICK SPENCE. 



cers, who had borrowed the word termagant from 
us, and applied it as we in their old romances, cor- 
rupted it into Tervagaunte: and from them La 
Fontaine took it up, and has used it more than "race 
in his tales. — This may be added to the other proofs 



4 

adduced in this volume, of the great intercourse 
that formerly subsisted between the old minstrels 
and legendary writers of both nations, and that they 
mutually borrowed each others romances. 



k 



VTT. * 

SIR PATRICK SPENCE, 

A SCOTTISH BjfLl 



is given from two MS. copies, transmitted from 

Scotland. In what age the hero of this ballad lived, 
or when this fetal expedition happened that proved 
so destructive to the Scots nobles, I have not been 
able to discover ; yet am of opinion, that their ca- 
tastrophe is not altogether without foundation in 
history, though it has escaped my own researches. 
In the infancy of navigation, such as used the nor- 
thern seas were very liable to shipwreck in the 
wintry months : hence a law was enacted in the 
reign of James III., (a law which was frequently 
repeated afterwards,) " That there be na scbip 
frauched out of the realm, with any staple gudes, 
fra the feast of Simons-day and Jude, unto the 
feast of the purification of our lady called Candel- 
mess." Jam. III. Parlt 8, ch. 15. 

In some modern copies, instead of Patrick Spence 
bath been substituted the name of Sir Andrew 
Wood, a famous Scottish admiral who flourished in 
the time of our Edw. IV., but whose story hath 
nothing in common, with this of the ballad. As 
Wood was the most noted warrior of Scotland, it is 
probable that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath 
engrossed the renown of other heroes. 



Ke,/ 



Tub Jrin£ sits uY DiaaSrfing Jpune, 
Drmjhng /he bluae-reld wine / 

O quharwin I get guid sailor. 
To sail this schip of mine t 



Up and spak an eldera knicht, 
Sat at the kings rioht kne : ^ 

Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, 
Thai sails upon the se. / 

The kin^Jias written a braid letter*. 
And signd it wi' his hand ; , 

And sent it, to Sir Patrick Spence, 
Was walking on the sand. 



10 



The first line that Sir Patrick red, 

A loud lauch laucbed he : 
The next line that Sir Patrick red, 

The teir blinded his ee. 

O Quha is this has don this deid, 

This ill deid don to me ; 
To send me out this time o' the seir, 

To sail upon the se? 

Mak hast, mat haste, my mirry men all, 
Our guid schip sails the morne. 

O say na sae, my master deir, 
For I feir_a deadlie storme. 

Late late yestreen I saw the newSmoone 
Wi' the auld moone in hir armjr; 

And I feir, J feir, my deir master, 
That we will com to harme. 

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith 
To weet their cork-hefld schoone ; 

Bot lang 6wre a' the play wer playd, 
Thair hats they swam aboone. 

O lang, lang, may thair ladies sir\ 
Wi thair fans into their hand, A 

Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence/ 
Cum sailing to the land. J 

O lang, lang, may the ladies atan< 
Wi thair gold kerns in their r~ 

Waiting for thair ain deir lords, 
For they'll se thame na 

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour*, 

It's fiftie fadom deip : 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feitf. 



20 



25 



SO 



35 



40 



VIII. ' 

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



We have here a ballad of Robin Hood (from the 
Editor's folio MS.) which was never before printed, 
and carries marks of much greater antiquity than any 
of the common popular songs on this subject. 

The severity of those tyrannical forest-laws, that 
were introduced by our Norman kings, and the great 
temptation of breaking them by such as lived near 



* A braid letter, i e. 
close Rolls. 



open, or patent ; in opposition to 



the royal forests, at a time when the yeomanry of 
this kingdom were every where trained up to the 
long-bow, and excelled all other nations in the art of 
shooting, must constantly have occasioned great 



• A village lying upon the river Forth, the entrance to 
which is sometimes denominated De mmrtuo mart. 

t An ingenious friend thinks the Author of Hardy knnte 
has borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the 
foregoing, and other old Scottish tongs in this colection. 



—» *» 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF G1SBORNE. 



i 



numbers of outlaws, and especially of such as were 
the best marksmen. These naturally fled to the 
woods for shelter ; and, forming into troops, endea- 
voured by their numbers to protect themselves from 
the dreadful penalties of their delinquency* The 
ancient punishment for killing the king's deer was 
loss of eyes and castration, a punishment far worse 
than death. This will easily account for the troops 
of banditti which formerly lurked in the royal forests, 
and, from their superior skill in archery and know- 
ledge of all the recesses of those unfrequented soli- 
tudes, found it no difficult matter to resist or elude 
the civil power* 

Among all those, none was ever more famous than 
the hero of this ballad, whose chief residence was in 
Shirewood forest, in Nottinghamshire ; and the 
heads of whose story; as collected by Stow, are 
briefly these. 

" In this time [about the year 1190, in the reign 
of Richard I.] were many robbers, and outlawes, 
among the which Robin Hood, and Little John, 
renowned theeves, continued in woods, despoyling 
and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed none 
but such as would invade them, or by resistance for 
their own defence. 

" The saide Robert entertained an hundred tall men 
and good archers with such spoiles and thefts as he 
got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so 
strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no 
woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise 
molested : poore mens goods he spared, abundantlie 
relieving them with that which by theft he got from 
abbeys and the houses of rich carles : whom Maior 
(the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but 
of all theeves he affinneth him to be the prince, and 
the most gentle theefe. M Annals, p. 159. 

The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, 
his skill in archery, his humanity, and especially his 
levelling principle of taking from the rich and giving 
to the poor, have in all ages rendered him the favou- 
rite of the common people, who, not content to cele- 
brate his memory by innumerable songs and stories, 
have erected him into the dignity of an earl. Indeed, 
it is not impossible, but our hero, to gain the more 
respect from his followers, or they to derive the 
more credit to their profession, may have given rise 
to such a report themselves : for we find it recorded 
in an epitaph, which, if genuine, must have been 
inscribed on his tombstone near the nunnery of 
Kirkleea in Yorkshire ; where (as the story goes) 
he was bled to death by a treacherous nun to whom 
he applied for phlebotomy : 

* ftear uititenuofc tofe laitl glean 
Iat) rota* earl of (untmgtim 
tua aim ber a» fjie eat geuir 
an nipi ftaulfc m Kofim fteuft 
*trt utlato? as %i an i* nun 
toil Bnglanfc nihiv %i agen. 
otiit 24 itai, tofconfcuff, i«47. 

This Epitaph appears to me suspicious : however, 
a late Antiquary has given a pedigree of Robin Hood, 
which, if genuine, shows that be had real pretensions 
to the Earldom of Huntington, and that his true 
name was Robert Fitz-oothf. Yet the most ancient 
poems on Robin Hood make no mention of this Earl- 
dom. He is expressly asserted to have been a yeo- 

• Sec Thoresby's Ducat Leod. p. 570. Biog. Brit. vi. 3833. 

* Sink*. lev, in his PalaeograpUia Britannica, No. II. 1740. 



man* in a very old legend in verse preserved in the 
archives of the public library at Cambridge f, in eight 
fyttes or parts, jprinted in black letter, quarto, thus 
inscribed : " © Here begynneth a lytell geste of 
Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude 
sheryfe of Notyngham." The first lines are, 

" Lythe and fasten, gentylmen, 
That be of nee-bore blode : 
I shall you tell of a good veman, 
His name was Robyn hode. 

" Robyn was a proude out-lawe, 
Whiles he walked on grounde ; 
So curteyse an outlawe as he was one, 
Was never none yfounde." &c. 

The printer's colophon is, " © Explicit Kinge Ed- 
wardeand Robin Hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented 
at London in Fletestrete at the sygne of the sone by 
Wynkinde Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collec- 
tion | is a different edition of the same poem " C 
Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by 
Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dra- 
matic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the 
Friar, not found in the former copy, called, " A 
newe playe for to be played in Maye games very 
plesaunte and full of pastyme. © (.*.) 2>." 

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with ob- 
serving, that the hero of this ballad was the favourite 
subject of popular songs so early as the time of K. 
Edward III. In the Visions of Pierce Plowman, 
written in that reign, a monk says, 

I can rimes of Roben Hod and Randal of Chester, 

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothygn at 

all. Fol. 26, Ed. 1550. 

See also in Bp. Latimer's Sermons§ a very curious 
and characteristical story, which shows what respect 
was shown to the memory of our archer in the time 
of that prelate. f 

The curious reader will find many other particulars 
relating to this celebrated Outlaw, in Sir John 
Hawkins's Hist of Masic, voL iii. p. 410, 4to. 

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, 
was executed for a robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin 
(with some curious particulars relating to his skill 
in archery), see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious 
" Memoir on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish," 

S129, annexed to his "Historical Essay on the 
ress of the Ancient and Modern Irish." Dublin, 
1788, 4to. 

Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken with this 
ballad j which, in this Edition, hath been brought 
nearer to the folio MS. 

When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre, 

And leaves both large and longe, 
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest 

To heare the small birdes songe. 

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 5 

Sitting upon the spraye, 
Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood, 

In the greenwood where he lay. 

* See also the following ballad, v. 147. t hum. D. 5, 2. 

1 Old Play?, 4to. K. vol. x. 

Ver. 1. For shaw* the MS. has ahalm: and tkradds riionlri 
perhaps be twards : i. c. the surface of the ground : viz. 
" when the fields were in their beauty :" or pcrhxps shades. 

$ Ser. Cth before K. Ed. Apr. 12. foi. 75, Gilpin's Life of 
Lat. p. 132. 



« 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



Now by my (aye, sayd jolly© Robin, 

A sweaven I had this night j 10 

I dreamt me of two wighty yemen, 

That fast with me can fight. 

Methought they did mee beate and binde, 

And tooke my bow mee firoe ; 
If I be Robin afire in this lande, 15 

Be be wroken on them towa. 

Sweavons are swift, master, quoth John, 
As the wind that blowes ore a hill ; 

For if itt be never so loude this night, 
To-morrow itt may be stilL SO 

Busk© yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, 

And John shall goe with mee, 
For lie goe seeke yond wight yeomen, 

In greenwood where the bee* 

Then the cast on their gownes of grene, 25 

And tooke theyr bowes each one ; 
And they away to the greene forrest 

A shooting forth are gone. 

Until they came to the merry greenwood, 

Where they had gladdest bee, 30 

There were the ware of a wight yeoman, 
His body leaned to a tree. 

A sword and a dagger he wore by his aide. 

Of manye a man the bane ; 
And he was clad in his capull hyde 55 

Topp and tayll and mayne. 

Stand you stfll, master, quoth Little John, 

Under this tree so grene ; 
And I will go to yond wight yeoman 

To know what he doth mesne. 40 

Ah I John, by me thou settest noe store, 

And that I farley finde : 
How offfc send I my men beffore. 

And tarry my selfe behinde 1 

It is no cunning a knave to ken, 45 

And a man but hear© him speake ; 
And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, 

John, I thy head wold break©. 

As often wordes they breeden bale, 

So they parted Robin and John ; 50 

And John is gone to Barnesdale : 

The gates* he knoweth echo one. 

But when he came to Barnesdale, 

Great heaviness there hee hadd, 
For he found tow of his owne fellowes 55 

Were slaine both in a slade. 

And Scarlett© he was flying© a-foote 

Fast over stocke and stone, 
For the sheriff© with seven score men 

Fast after him is gone. 60 



i e. ways, puces, paths, ridings. 
' in the North for uw*. 



Gat* is a common 



One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John, 
With Christ his might and mayne ; 

Be make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, 
To atopp he shall be fayne. 

Then John bent up his long bende-bow, 

And fetteled him to shoote : 
The bow was made of a tender boughe, 

And fell downe to his foote. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, 
That ere thou grew on a tree ; 

For now this day thou art my bale, 
My boote when thou shorn 1 bee. 



65 



7C 



His shoote it was but loosely shott, 
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine 

For itt mett one of the sherriffes men, 
Good William a Trent was slaine. 

It had bene better of William a Trent 
To have bene abed with sorrowe, 

Than to be that day in the green wood slade 
To meet with Little John's arrowe. 

But as it is said, when men be mett 

Fyve can doe more than three, 
The sheriffe hath taken Little John, 

And bound him fast to a tree. 



75 



80 



85 



Thou ahalt be drawen by dale and downe, 

And hanged hye on a hilL 
But thou mayst myle of thy purpose, quoth John, 

If itt be Christ his will 



Let us leave talking of Litle John, 
And thinke of Robin Hood, 

How be is gone to the wight yeoman, 
Where under the leaves he stood. 



90 



Good morrows, good fellowe, said Robin so fayre, 
" Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he : 

Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande 95 
A good archere thou sholdst bee. 

I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, 

And of my morning tyde. 
Be lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin ; 

Good fellow, Be be thy guide. 100 

I seeke an outlawe, the straunger sayd, 

Men call him Robin Hood ; 
Rather lid meet with that proud outlawe 

Than fortye pound soe good. 

Now come with me thou wighty yeman, 105 

And Robin thou soone ahalt see : 
But first let us some pastime find 

Under the greenwood tree. 

First let us some mastery© make 

Among the woods so even, 110 

Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood 

Here att some unsett Steven. 

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, 

That grew both under a breere, 
And sett them threescore rood in twaine ll. r 

To shoot the prickes y-fere. 



h 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



S3 



i 

ji 



Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, 

Leade on, I doe bidd thee. 
Kay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd, 

My leader thoa shalt bee. 120 

The first time Robin shot at the pricke, 

He mist but an inch it froe : 
The yeoman he was an archer good, 

But he cold never shoote soe. 

The second shoote had the wightye yeman, 125 

He shote within the garUnde : 
But Robin he shott far better than hee, 

For he dare the good pricke wande. 

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ; 

Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ; 130 

For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, 

Thoa wert better then Robin Hoode. 

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he, 

Under the leaves of lyne. 
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin, . 135 

Till thou have told me thine. 



I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee, 
And Robin to take Ime sworne ; 

And when I am called by my right name 
I am Guye of good Gisbdrne. 



140 



My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin, 

By thee I set right nought : 
I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale, 

Whom thou so long bast sought. 

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, 
Might hare seene a full fayre sight, 

To see how together these yeomen went 
With blades both browne * and bright 



145 



To see how these yeomen together they fought 
Two bowres of a summers day : 150 

Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
Them fettled to flye away. 



Robin was reachles on a roote, 

And stumbled at that tyde ; 
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 

And hitt him ore the left side. 

Ah, deare lady, sayd Robin Hood, ' thoa 
That art both mother and may,' 

I think it was never mans destinye 
To dye before his day. 



155 



160 



•The common epithet for a sword or other offensive 
weapon, In the old metrical romances, is brown. As 
- brown brand," or - brown sword, brown bill," &c; and 
sometimes even "bright brown sword." Chaucer applies 
the wori nude in the same sense ; thus he describes the 



»» 



"And by his side he bare a maty blade.' 

ProL ver. 820. 
and even thus the rod Mars >— 

** And in his hand he had a ronsty sword." 

Teat of Crerid. 188. 

Spenser has sotretlmes ased the same epithet. See War- 
ton's ObMrrv. vol. ii. p. 82. It should seem, from this par- 
ticularity, that otir ancesters did not piqne themselves upon 
keeping their weapons bright : perhaps they deemed it more 
honourable to carry them stained with the blood of their 



Robin thought on our ladye deere, 

And soone leapt up againe, 
And strait he came with a ' backward' stroke, 

And he Sir Guy hath slayne. 

He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, 
And sticked itt on his bowes end : 

Though bast beene a traytor all thy liffe, 
Which thing must have an ende. 

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, 
And nicked Sir Guy in the face, 

That he was never on woman born, 
Cold tell whose head it was. 



165 



170 



Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 

And with me be not wrothe ; 
If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand, 175 

Thoa shalt hare the better clothe. 

Robin did off his gowne of greene, 

And on Sir Guy did it throwe, 
And hee put on that capull hyde, 

That cladd him topp to toe. 180 

The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, 

Now with me I will bear© ; 
For I will away to Barnesdale, 

To see how my men doe fare. 

Robin Hood sett Guyes borne to his mouth, 185 

And a loud blast in it did blow. 
That beheard the sheriff* of Nottingham, 

As he leaned under a lowe. 



190 



195 



Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe, 

I heare nowe tydings good. 
For yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, 

And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 

Yonder I heare Sir Gnye's home blowe, 

Itt blowe8 soe well in tyde, 
And >onder comes that wightye yeoman, 

Cladd in his capull hyde. 

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy, 

Aske what thou wilt of mee. 
O, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin, 

Nor I will none of thy fee : *00 

But now I've slaine the master, he sayes, 

Let me goe strike the knave ; 
This is all the rewarde I aske ; 

Nor noe other will I have. 



Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 
Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee : 

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
Well granted it shale be. 

When Litle John heard his master speake, 
Well knewe he it was his Steven : 

Now shall I be looset, quoth Litfe John, 
With Christ his might in heaven. 

Fast Robin hee hyed him to little John, 
He thought to loose him bettVe j 

The sheriffe and all his company* 
Fast after him did drive. 



206 



310 



*15 



Ver. 163, awkward*, MS. 



is 



I 



u 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOUR1H EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



Stand abacke, stand aback©, sayd Robin ; 

Why draw you mee soe neera 1 
Itt was never the use in onr country^, 

One's shrift another ahold heere. 

Bat Robin palled forth an Irysh kniffe, 
And loosed John hand ana foote, 

And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand 
And bade it be his boote. 



220 



225 



Then John he took Guye's bow in his hand, 

His boltes .and arrowes eche one : 
When the sheriffs saw Little John bend his bow, 

He fettled him to be gone. 

Towards his house in. Nottingham towns 

He fled fall fast away ; 230 

And soe did all his oompanye : 
Not one behind wold stay. 



But he cold neither runne soe fust, 
Nor away soe fast cold ryde, 

Bat Litle John with an arrowe so broad 
He shott him into the * backe'-syde. 



255 



%• The title of Sir was not formerly peculiar to 
Knights, it was given to Priests, and sometimes to 
very inferior personages. 

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied to such 
as had taken the degree of A. B. in the universities, 
who are still styled Domini, " Sirs/' to distinguish 
them from Undergraduates, who have no prefix, 
and from Masters of Arts, who are styled Magistri 
"Masters." 



IX. 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



The subject of this poem which was written by 
Skelton, is the death of Henry Percy, fourth Earl 
of Northumberland, who fell a victim to the avarice 
of Henry VII. In 1489 the parliament had granted 
the king a subsidy for carrying on the war in Bre- 
tagne. This tax # was found so heavy in the North 
that die whole country was in a flame. The E. of 
Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for Yorkshire, 
wrote to inform the king of the discontent, and pray- 
ing an abatement. But nothing is so unrelenting as 
avarice ; the king wrote back that not a penny 
should be abated. This message being delivered by 
the earl with too little caution, the populace rose, 
and, supposing him to be the promoter of their - ' 
calamity, broke into his house, and murdered him, 
with several of his attendants, who yet are charged 
by Skelton with being backward in their duty on 
this occasion. This melancholy event happened at 
the earl's seat at Cocklodge, near Thirske, in York- 
shire, April 28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, &c 

If the reader does not find much poetical merit in 
this old poem, (which yet is one of Skelton's best,) 
be will see a striking picture of the state and mag- 
nificence kept up by our ancient nobility during the 
feudal times. This great earl is described here as 
having, among his menial servants, knights, squires, 
and even barons: see ver 32, 183, &c. which, 
however different from modern manners, was 
formerly not unusual with our greater Barons, whose 
castles bad all the splendour and offices of a royal 
court, before the laws against retainers abridged 
and limited the number of their attendants. 

John Skelton, who commonly styled himself Poet 
Laureat, died June 21, 1529. The following poem, 
which appears to have been written soon after the 
event, is printed from an ancient MS. cony pre- 
served in the British Museum, being much more 
correct than that printed among Skelton's Poems, 
in bl. let. 12mo, 1568. It is addressed to Henry 
Percy fifth Earl of Northumberland, and is prefaced 
&c. m the following manner : j 



Poets Skelton Laureetua libellum suum metrics 

alloquitnr. 

Ad dominum properato meum mea psgma Percy, 

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit, 
Ad nutum Celebris tu prona repone leonis, 

Quaque suo patri tristia justa cano. 
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutst 

Fortunam, cuncta qua> male fida rotat. 
Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris ooeupet annos ; 

Ad libitum cujusipse pantos era 

Sixlton Laubbat upow thb doloubous dbthe and 
much lakbntablb chaukcb of thb moost 
honobablb eblb of nobihvmbbblandb. 

I waylb, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore 
The dedely rate, the dolefulle destenny 

Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute restore, 

Of the blode* royall descendinge nobelly ; 

Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne lamentably 5 
Thorow tresun ageyn hym compassyd and wrought ; 
Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought. 

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name 
In the college of musis goddess hvstoriall, 

Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10 
In elect uteraunce to make memoryall : 
To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call 

Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle 

With the freshe waters of Elyconys welle. 



• The mother of Henry, Brat Earl of Northnmberltnd, 
was Mary daughter to Henry Earl of Lancaster, whose father 
Edroood was second son of King Henry III. — The mother 
and wife of the second Earl of Northumberland were both 
lineal descendants of Ring Edward 111. — The Percys also 
were lineally descended from the Emperor Charlemagne 
and the ancient Kings of France, by his ancestor Josceline 
da Lovain (son of Godfrey Duke of Brabant), who took the 
name of Percy on marrying the heiress of that huase in the 
reign of Hen. ll., Vid. Camden Britan. Edmondson, &c 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, 



t» 



Of noble aetes anncyently enrolde, 15 

Of famous princis and lordes of aatate, 

By thy report ar wonte to be extold, 
Regestringe trewly every r#f mare date : 
Of thy bountie after the uauall rate, 

Kyndle in me anche plenty of thy nobles, 

Tnes sorrowfulle ditiea that I may ahew expres. 20 

Jn aeaona past who bathe harde or aene 
Of formar writing© by any preaidente 

That vilane bastarddis in ther furious tene, 
Fulfyld with malice of fro ward entente, 
Confeterd togeder of commoun concente 25 

Falaly to alo ther moste singular goode lordet 

It may be registerde of shamefull recorde, 

8o noble a man, so raliaunt lorde and knight, 
Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dotne ken; SO 

At his commaundement, whiche had both day and 
Knygntis and squyvrs, at every season when (night 
He calde upon them, as menyall houahold men * 

Were no thes oommones uneurteis karfis of kynde 

To alo their owne lordet God was not in their 

[minde. 35 

And were not they to blame, I say also, 

That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust, 

To sufFre hym slayn of his mortall fo 1 

Fled away from hvm, let hym ly in the dust : 
They bode not till the rekening were discust. 40 

What shuld I flatter t what shulde I glose or paynt ? 

Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint. 

In Englande and Fraunoe, whioh gretly was redouted ; 
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in 
drede; 
To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede : 45 
A mayny of rude villayns made him for to blede : 
Unkindly they slew him, that holp them oft at node 
He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall, 
Yet shamfully they slew hym ; that shame mot them 
befaL 

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad 1 50 
What frantyk frensy fyll in youre braynet 

Where was your wit ana reson, ye shuld have had t 
What willfull folymade yow to ryse agayne 
Your naturall lord ? alas ! I can not fayne. 

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit be- 
hynd ; 55 

Well may you be called comones most unkynd. 

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef de- 
fence, 
Redy to assyst you in erery tyme of node : 

Your worship depended of his excellence : 
Alas ! ye mad men, to far ye did excede : 60 

Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede : 

What movyd you agayn nym to war or to fight 1 

What aylde you to ale your lord agyn all right ? 

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord, 
The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65 
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord 
To the right of his prince which shold not be 

withstand ; 
For wbos cause ye slew hym with your awne 
hande : 
But bad his nobill men done wel that day, 
\ e had not been hable to have aside him nay. 70 



But ther wis mis peckinge, or els I am begylde j 
How-be-it the matter was evident and pUyne, 
For yf they had occupied ther spere and ther shelde* 
This noble man doutles bad not be slayne. 
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double 
chayn, 75 

And held with the oommouns under a cloke, 
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this 
smoke. 

i. 

The oommouns renyed ther taxes to pay 
Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge ; 

With one voice importune, they playnly said nay : 80 
They buskt them on a bushment them self in baile 

tobringe: 
Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to wrings, 

Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry 

They aside, they forsede not, nor carede not to dy. 

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and 
knyght, 85 

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne, 
Prosed forthe boldly to witstand the mygbt, 
And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne 
Vigorously upon them with myght and with 
mayne, 
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there : 90 
Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere. 

Barons, knights, squyers, one and aHe, 
Toceder with servaunts of his mmuly, 

Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall, 
Of whoa [life] they counted not a flye ; 95 

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly 

Alas I his golde, his fee, his annuall rente 

Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and spent. 

He was envyronde aboute on every syde 
Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and 
wode ; 100 

Yet whfls he stode he gave them woundea wyde 
Alas for routhe ! what thouche his mynde were 

goode, 
His corage manly, yet ther he abed his bloode • 
All left alone, alas ! he fawte in vayne ; 
For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 



115 



Alas for pite ! that Percy thus was spylt, 
The famous erle of Northumberland^ : 

Of knightly prowes the aworde pomel and hylt, 
The mighty lyoun * doutted by se and lande ! 
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande ! 110 

What man remembring how shamfully he was 
slayne, 

From bitter weepings himself kan restzayne 1 



O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war 1 i 

O dolorous Teusdsy, dedicate to thy name, 

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to 
mar! 115 

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, 
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same I 

Moste noble erle ! 6 fowle mysuryd grounde 

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde ! 



* Alluding to his cmt and supporter*. Duattcd U 
fractal for redoubted* 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



O Atropos, of the fetall system thre, ISO 

Goddes mooste cruell onto the lyf of man, 

All merciles, in the ys no pite* ! 
O homycide, whiche sleest ell that thou km, 
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran, 

That with thy aworde enhanud of mortal] drede, 125 

Thou kit aaonder his pernght vitall threde I 

• * 

My wordii unpullysht be naldde and playne. 
Of anreat poems they want ellnmynynge ; 

Bot by them to knonlege ye may attayne 

Of this lotdis dethe and of bis murdrynge. ISO 
Which whils he lyyyd had fuyson of every thing, 

Of knights, of sqnyera, chef lord of toure and tonne, 

Tyl fyUrill fortune began on hym to frowne. 

Paregall to dukis , with kings be myght compare, 
8urmountmge in honor aU oris he did excede, 135 

To all enntreis abonte hym reporte me I dare. 
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede, 
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede, 

Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 139 

Tyll the channoe ran agyne him of fortune's duble 
dyse. 

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame 
With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust t 

Whos noble actis shew worslieply bis name, 
Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must 
Yet sumwnat wright eupprisia with hartly lust, 

Truly reportinge his right noble estate, 146 

Immortally whiche is immaculate. 



His noble Mode never disteynyd 
Trew to his prince for to defende his right, 

Doublenes hatmge, fels maters to compas, 150 

Treytory and treson he bannesht out of syght, 
With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, 

As all his kuntrey lean testefy the same : 

To slo such a lord, alas, it was grete shame. 

If the hole quere of the musis nyne 155 

In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde, 

Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne, 
As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd ; 
To me also allthouche it were promysyde 

Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160 

All were too litiU for his magnyficenoe. 

yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age, 
Grow and encreae, remembre thyn estate, 

God the assyst unto thyn herytage, 

And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 165 
Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate. 
And, as the lyoune, whiche is of beetis kinge, 
Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne. 

1 pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long, 
Stabille thy mynde oonstant to be and fast, 170 

Bight to mayntein, and to resist all wronge : 



All flattringe feytors abhor and from the east, 
Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blasts 
Let double delinge in the have no place, 
And be not light of credence m no case. 175 

Wythe bevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd, 
: . £ehe man may sorow m bis inward thought, 
Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd 

Allgyf Engrlond and Frauncewere thorow taught. 

Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought 180 
Bothe temporal! and spirituall for to complayne 
This noble man, that crewelly was alayne. 

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold, 
And all other gentihnen with hym enterteynd 

In lee, as menyafi men of his housold, 185 

Whom he as lord worsheply mauteynd : 
To aorowfull weping they ought to beconstreynd, 

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce, 

Of ther good lord the fete and dedely chaunoe. 

O perlese prince of hevyn emneryalle, 190 

That with one worde formed al thing of noughts ; 

Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kail ; 

Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought 
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght, 

With thy blode precious our finaunce thou dyd pay ,195 

And us redemed, from the fendys pray : 

To the pray we, as prince incomperable, 
As thou art of mercy and pite the well, 

Thou bringe unto thy joy etermynable 
The sowleof this lorae from audaungerofhell, 200 
In endles blis with the to byde and dwell 

In thy palace above the orient, 

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent. 

O queue of mercy, O lady full of grace, 
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 205 

To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace. 
Of all women O iloure withouten pere, 
Pray to thy son shove the starris elere, 

He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun 

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210 

In joy tryumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy, 
With all the hole sorte of that glorious place, 

His soule mot receyve into ther company 
Thorowe bounte of hym that formed -all solace : 
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215 

The father, the son, ana the holy goste . 

In Trinitate one God of myghts moste. 

Ht I have placed the foregoing poem of 8kelton v s 
before the following? extract from Hawes, not only 
because it was written first, but because I think 
Skelton is in general to be considered as the earlier 
poet ; many of his poems being written long before 
tiawes's Ghraund* Amour, 



jl 



THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 



X. 



THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 



Thb reader bat here a specimen of the descriptive 
powers of Stephen Hawes, a celebrated poet in the 
reign of Hen. VIL, though now little known. It is 
extracted from an allegorical poem of bis (written 
in 1505,) intitled, " The Hist, of Grannde Amoure 
& La Belle Pncel, called the Palace of Pleasure, 
&c" 4to. 1555. See more of Hawes in Ath. Ox. v. 
1, p. 6, and Warton's Observ. v. 2, p. 105. He was 
also author of a hook, intitled, " The Temple of 
Glass. Wrote by 8tephen Hawes, gentleman of the 
bedchamber to K. Henry VII." Pr. for C ax ton, 
4to. no date. 

The following Stanzas are taken from Chap. III. 
and IV. of the Hist, abore mentioned. " How 
Fame departed from Graunde Amour and left him 
with Governaunce and Grace, and ho we he went to 
the Tower of Doctrine, &c." As we are able to 
gire no small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader 
will excuse the insertion of this extract. 

I loud about and saw a craggy roche, 
Farre in the west neare to the element, 

And as I dyd then unto it approche, 
Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent 
The royal tower of Morall Document, 5 

Made of fine copper wtih turrettes fsyre and bye, 

Which against Pnebus shone soe marreylously. 



That for the rery perfect bryghtnes 
What of the tower, and of the cl« 

I could nothyng behold the goodlines 
Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne : 
Tyll at the last, with mysty wvndea donne, 

The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus 

Auster gan coyer with clowde tenebrus. 



10 



15 



i! 



i ■ 



Hien to the tower I drewe nere and nere, 
And often mused of the greet hyghnes 

Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did appeare : 
But the myre tower, (so much of ryches 
Was all about,) sexangled donbtles ; 

Gamy Id with grayhoundes, and with manylyons, 20 

Made of fyne golde ; with divers sundry dragons*. 

The little turrets with ymages of golde 

About was set, whiche with the wy nde aye moved 

With propre vices, that I did well beholde 
About the tower, in sundry wyse they hoved 25 
With goodly pypes, in their mouthes ituned, 

That with the wynd they pyped a daunce 

iclipped Amour d* la hault pUtaunce, 

V. 25, towera, PC. 
• Oreyhoond*, Lion*, DrafOD*, were at that tunc the royal 



The toure was neat of marveylons wydnes, 
To whyche ther was no way to passe bat one, SO 

Into the toure for to have an nitres : 
A grace there was yehesyld all of stone 
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone 

Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd 1 

With bothe the Grayhoundes in my company* ; 35 

Tyll that I came unto a ryaH gate, 
Where I sawe stondynge the goodly portres, 

Whyche axed me, from whence I came a-late ; 
I'o whome I gan in every thynge expresse 
All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse, 40 

And eke my name ; I told her every dell : ~* 

Whan she berde this she lyked me right well* 

Her name, she sayd, was called Countenaunce ; 
Into the ' base* courte she dyd me then lede, 

Where was a fonntayne deputed of plesance, 45 
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede. 
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed ; 

And on the toppe four dragons blewe and stoute 

Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd spoute. 



Of whyche there flowed fours ryvers ryght clere, 50 
Sweter than Nylnsf or Ganges was ther odours t 
yi or Eufirates unto them no nere : 
lyd than taste the aromatyke Iycoure, 
Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any floure ; 
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous scent 55 
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it meat 



^K 



And after thys further forth me brought 
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly HaH, 

Ofjasper stones it was wonderly wrought s 
Thy wyndowes clean depurea all of crystall, 60 
And m the roufe on hye over all 

Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ; 

Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne. 

The flore was paved with beraH clarified, 

With pillera made of stones precious, 55 

Like a place of pleasure so payely glorified, 
It myght be called a palaice glorious, 
8o muche delectable and solacious ; 

The hall was hanged hye and circuler 

With doth of arras in the rychest maner, 70 

That treated well of a fill noble story. 

Of the doubty wave to the Tower PeriQouf \ 

Howe a noble knygbt should wynne the victory 

Of many a serpente foule and ooious. 
• ee e e e • 



V. 44, bety courte, PC. V. 40, partyet, PC 

* This alludes to a former part of the Poem, 
t Nytot, PC. I The itory of the poem. 



]■• 



49 



THE CHILD OF ALLL. 



XI. 

THE CHILD OF ELLE, 



—is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio 
MS. : which, though extremely defective and muti- 
lated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited 
a strong desire to attempt a completion of the story. 
The reader will easily discover the supplemental 
stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be 
inclined to pardon it, when he considers how diffi- 
cult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity 
and artless beauties of the original. 

Child was a title sometimes given to a knight See 
Gloss. 

On yonder hill a castle standee 

With walles and towres bedight, 
And yonder lives the Child of Elle, 

A younge and comely knighte. 

The Chad of Elle to his garden went, 5 

And stood at his garden pale, 
Whan, lo ! he beheld fair Emmelines page 

Come trippinge downe the dale. 



The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, 

Y-wis be stoode not stille, 
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page 

Come climbing up the hille. 



to 



Nowe Christ© thee save, thou little foot-page. 

Now Christe thee save and see ! 
'Oh tell me how does thy ladye gaye, 15 

And what may thy tydinges bee 1 



My lady she is all woe-begone, 

And the teares they falle from her eyne ; 
And aye she laments the deadlye feude 

Betweene her house and thine. 



20 



25 



And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe 

Bedewde with many a teare, 
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her. 

Who loved thee so deare. 

And here Bhe sends thee a ring of golde 

The last boone thou mayst have, 
And biddes thee weare it for her sake, 
; When she is Jayd in grave. 



For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke, 

And in grave soone must shee bee, 50 

Sith her father hath chose her a new new lore, 

And forbidde her to think of thee. 

Her father hath brought her a caiiish knight, 

Sir John of the north countraye, 
And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35 

Or he vowes he will her slave. 

Nowe bye thee backe, thou little foot-page. 

And greet thy ladye from mee, 
And tell her that I her owne true love 

Will dye, or sette her free. 40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page* 

And let thy fair ladye know 
This knight will I bee at her bowre window*, 

Betide me weale or woe. 

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 

He neither stmt ne stayd 
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre 

Whan kneeling downe he sayd, 

O ladye, I've been with thy own true love. 
And he greets thee well by mee ; 

This night will he be at thy bowre-windftre, 
And dye or sette thee free. 

Nowe daye was gone and night was come, 

And all were fast aaleepe, 
All save the ladye Emmeline, 

Who sate in her bowre to weepe : 

And soone she heard her true loves voice 

Lowe whispering at the walle, 
Awake, awake, my deare ladyd, 

Tia I thy true love call. 

Awake, awake, my ladye deare. 

Come, mount this faire palfraye 
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, 

He carrye thee hence awaye. 

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 

Nowe nay, this may not bee ; 
For aye ahold I tint my maiden fame, 

If alone I should wend with thee. 

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true 

Mayst safely wend alone, 
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe, 

Where marriage shall make us one. 

" My father he is a baron bolde. 

Of lynage proude and hye ; 
And what would he saye if his daughter 

Awaye with a knight should fly 1 

Ah t well I wot, he never would rest, 
Nor his meate should doe him no goode, 

Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, 
And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 

ladye wert thou in thy saddle sette, 
And a little space him fro, 

1 would not care for thy cruel father, 
Nor the worst that he could doe. 



ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85 
And once without this walle, 

1 would not care for thy cruel father, 
Nor the worst that might befalle. 

Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 
And aye her heart was woe : 90 

At length he seized he lUly-white hand, 
And downe the ladder he drewe : 



TO 



75 



80 



' 



THE CHILD OF ELLE. 



if 



And thrice lie clasped her to his breste, 

And kist her tenderlie : 
The teares that fell from her fair eyes 

Ranne like the fountayne free. 



95 



Hee monnted himselfe on his steede so talle, 

And her on a fair palfraye, 
And slung his bugle about his necke, 

And roondlye they rode awaye. 100 

All this beheard her owne damselle, 

In her bed whereas ahee ley, 
Quoth shee t My lord shall knowe of this, 

Soe I shall hare golde and fee. 

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde 1 105 

Awake, my noble dame ! 
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of EUe 

To doe the deede of shame. 

The baron he woke, the baron he rose, 
And called his merrye men all : 110 

" And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, 
Thy ladye is carried to thrall*" 



Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, 

A mile forth of the towne, 
Wheo she was aware of her fathers men 

Come galloping over the downe : 



115 



And'formost came the carliah knight, 

Sir John of the north countraye : 
" Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou also traitdure, 

Nor carry that ladye awaye. ltO 

For she is come of bye lineage, 

And was of a ladye borne, 
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne 

To carrye her hence to scorne." 

X 

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125 

Nowe thou doest lye of mee ; 
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, 

Soe never did none by thee. 

But light nowe downe, my ladye mire, 

light downe, and hold my steed, 190 

While I and this discourteous knighte 
Doe trye this arduous deede. 

But light nowe downe, my deare ladyd, 

Light downe, and hold my horse ; 
While I and this discourteous knight 135 

Doe trye our valour's force. 

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 

And aye her heart was woe, 
While twixt her lore and the carliah knight 

Past many a baleful blowe. 140 

The Child of Eue hee fought soe well, 

As his weapon he wared amaine, 
That soone he had slaine the carliah knight, 

And layd him upon the plaine. 



And nowe the baron and all has men 
Full fast approached nye : 

Ah ! what may ladye Emmeline doe , 
Twtre nowe no boote to flye. 



145 



Her lover he put his home to his mouth, 
And blew both loud and shrill, 

And soone he saw his owne merry men 
Come ryding over the hill. 



150 



M 



155 



160 



165. 



Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold bardn, 
I pray thee hold thy hand, 
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts 
Fast knit in true lore s band. 

Thy daughter I hare dearly loved 

Full long and many a day ; 
But with such lore as holy kirke 

Hath freelye said wee may. 

O give .consent, thee may be mine, 

And bless a faithfull poire : 
My lands and livings are not small. 

My house and lineage faire : 

My mother she was an earl's daughter, 
And a noble knyght my sire ■ 

The baron he frowned and turn'd away 
With mickle dole and ire. 



Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, 
And did all tremblinge stand : 170 

At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, 
And held his lifted hand. 

Pardon, my lorde and father deare, 

This mire yong knyght and mee : 
Trust me, but for the carliah knyght, 175 

I never had fled from thee. 

Oft hare you called your Emmeline 

four darling and your joye ; 
O let not then your harsh resolves 

Your Emmeline destroye. 180 

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke. 

And turned his heade asyde 
To whipe awaye the starting teara 

He proudly strare to hyde. 

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185 

And mused a little space : 
Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde. 

With many a fond embrace. 

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd, 

And gare her lillye white hand : 19t 

Here take my deare and only child. 

And with her half my land : 

• 

Thy father once mine honour wrongde 

In dayes of youthful pride ; 
Do thou the injurye repayre 195 

In fondneese for thy bride. 

And as thou lore her, and hold her deare, 

Heaven prosper thee and thine : 
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, 

My lovelye Emmeline. 900 

• • 

tit From the word lark* in rer. 159, this hatn 
been thought to be a Scottish Ballad, but it must be 
acknowledged that the line referred to is among the 
additions supplied by the Editor : besides, in the 
Northern counties of England, kirk is used in the 
common dialect for church, as well as beyond the 
Tweed. 



10 



EDOM O' GORDON. 



1\ 



XII. 
EDOM O' GORDON, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



—was printed at Glasgow, by Robert and An- 
lrew Foulis, mdcclv.' 8vo, 19 pages,— We are 
ndebted for its publication (with many other rain- 
able things in these volumes) to Sir David Dalrym- 
ple, Bart, who gave it as it was preserved in the 
memory of a lady, that is now dead. 

The reader will here find it improved, and enlarged 
with several fine stanzas, recovored from a fragment 
of the same ballad, in the Editor's folio MS. It is 
remarkable that the latter is entitled Captain Adam 
Carre, and is in the English idiom. Bnt whether the 
author was English or Scotch, the difference origi- 
nally was not great. The English Ballads are gene- 
rally of the North of England, the Scottish are of 
the South of Scotland, and of consequence the 
country of Ballad-singers was sometimes subject to 
one crown, and sometimes to the other, and most 
frequently to neither. Most of the finest old Scotch 
songs have the scene laid within twenty miles of 
England, which is indeed all poetic ground, green 
hills, remains of woods, clear brooks. The pastoral 
scenes remain : of the rude chivalry of former ages 
happily nothing remains but the rums of the castles, 
where the more daring and successful robbers re- 
sided. The House or Castle of the Bodes stood 
about a measured mile south from Duns, in Ber- 
wickshire: some of the ruins of it may be seen to 
this day. The Gordons were anciently seated in the 
same county : the two villages of East and West Gor- 
don lie about ten miles from the castle of the Rodes* 
The fact, however, on which the Ballad is founded, 
happened in the North of Scotland, (see below,) 
vet it is but too faithful a specimen of the vio- 
lences practised in the feudal times in every part 
of this Island, and indeed all over Europe. 

From the different titles of this Ballad, it should 
seem that the old strolling bards or minstrels (who 
gained a livelihood by reciting these poems) made 
no scruple of changing the names of the personages 
they introduced, to humour their hearers. For in- 
stance, if a Gordon's conduct was blame-worthy in 
the opinion of that age, the obsequious minstrel 
would, when among Gordons, chance the name to 
Car, whose clan or sept lay further West, and rice 
versa. — The foregoing observation, which I owed to 
Sir David Dalrymple, will appear the more perfectly 
well founded, if, as I have since been informed 
(from Crawford's Memoirs), the principal Com- 
mander of the expedition was a Gordon, and the 
immediate Agent a Car, or Ker; for then the reciter 
might, upon good grounds, impute the barbarity 
here deplored, either to a Gordon or a Car, as best 
suited his purpose. In the third volume the reader 
will find a similar instance. See the song of Gil 



* Tail Ballad Is well known In that neighbourhood, where 
it ia entitled Adam o" Gordon. It may be observed, that the 
raraotu freebooter, whom Edward I. fought with hand to 
hand, near Farnham, was named Adam Gordon. 



Morris, wherein the principal character introduced 
had different names given him, perhaps from the 
same cause. 

It may be proper to mention, that in the folio MS. 
instead of the " Castle of the Rodes," it is the 
" Castle of Britton'B-borrow," and also " Diactoro" or 
''Draitourp-borrow," (for it is very obscurely written,) 
and '• Copt Adam Carre" is called the "Lord of 
Westerton-town." Uniformity required that the ad- 
ditional stanzas supplied from that copy should be 
clothed in the Scottish orthography and idiom - this 
has therefore been attempted, though perhaps imper- 
fectly. 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld. 

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men. 
We maun draw till a huuld. 

And quhat a hauld sail we draw till, 5 

My rainy men and met 
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes, 

To see that fair ladle. 



The lady stude on hir castle wa' 
Beheld baith dale and down * 

There she was ware of a host of men 
Cum ryding towards the toun. 

O see ae nat, my mirry men a'! 

see ae nat quhat I see? 
Methinks I see a host of men : 

1 marveil quha they be. 

She weend it had been hir luvely lord, 

As he cam ryding heme ; 
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, 

Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 

She had nae sooner busldt hirsel, 

And putten on hir goun, 
But Edom o' Gordon and his men 

Were round about the toun. 

They had nae sooner supper sett, 

Nae sooner said the grace, 
But Edom o' Gordon and bis men 

Were light about the place. 

The lady ran up to hir towir head, 

8a fast as she could hie, 
To see if by hir mire speeches 

She could wi' him agree. 

But quhan he see this lady saif, 
And hir yates all locked fast, 

He fell into a rage of wrath, 
And his look was all aghast. 



10 



15 



SO 



15 



SO 



S5 



— f> 



EDOM O' GORDON. 



Cum doun to me, m lady gay, 

Com doun. cum doun to me : 
This night sail ye lig within mine arraes. 

To-morrow my bride sail be* 40 

I winnae earn doun, se fids Gordon. 

I winnae cum doun to thee ; 
I winnae forsake mj ain dear lord. 

That is sae far fine me. 

Give owre sour house, se lady fiiir, 45 

Giv£ owre sour house to me, 
Or I sail brenn yoursel therein, 

Bot and sour babies three. 

I winnae give owre, se false Gorddn, 

To nse sik traitor as see : 50 

And if se brenn my ain dear babes. 

My lord shall make se drie. 

But reach my pistoll, Gland, my man *, 

And charge se weil my run * : 
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 55 

My babes we been undone. 



She stnde upon hir castle wa'. 

And let twa bullets flee* : 
She mist that bluidy butchers hart, 

And only ras'd his knee. 

8et fire to the house, quo' fids Gorddn, 
All wood wi' dole and ire : 

Fals lady, se sail rue this deid, 
As se bran in the fire. 



60 



' 



Wae worth, wae worth se, Jock my man, 65 

I paid se weil sour fee ; 
Quhy pu' se out the ground-wa' stane, 

Lets in the reek to me 1 

And em wae worth se, Jock my man, 

I paid se weil sour hire ; 70 

Quhy pu' se out the ground-wa' stane, 
To me lets in the ore 1 

Ze paid me weil my hire, lady ; 

Ze paid me weil my fee : 
But uow I'm Edom o'Gordons man, 75 

Maun either doe or die. 

than bespaik hir little son, 
Sate on the nurses knee : 

Saves, Mither deare, gi' owre this house, 
For the reek it smithers me. 80 

1 wad gie a* my gowd, my childe, 

Sae wald I a' my fide, 
For ane blast o' the western wind, 
To Maw the reek free thee. 

O then bespaik hir dochter dear, 85 

She was baith jimp and sma : 
O row me in a pair o' sheits, 

And tow me owre the wa. 



* These three Uses are restored from Fonlia'a edition, and 
uw toL MS., wkkh teat rail " the bnfleU " in tit. 58 



They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits, 
And towd hir owre the wa : 

But on the point of Gordon's spear 
She gat a deadly fa. 

bonnie bonnie was hir mouth, 
And cherry were her cheiks, 

And clear clear was hir Bellow hair, 
Whereon the reid bluid dreips. 

Then wi' bis spear he turnd hir owre, 

gin hir face was wan ! 

He sayd, Ze are the first that eir 

1 wisht alive again. 

He turnd hir owre and owre againe, 
O gin hir skin was whyte ! 

1 might ha spared that bonnie face 
To hae been sum mans delyte. 

Busk and bono, my merry men a', 
For ill dooms I doe guess : 

I cannae luik in that bonnie face, 
As it lyes on the grass. 



Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir, 
Then freits wil follow thame : 

Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon 
Wss daunted by a dame. 

But quhen the lady see the fire 

Cum flaming owre hir heady 
She wept and kist her children twain, 

8ayd, Bairns, we been but dead. 

The Gordon then bis bougul blew, 

And said, ' Awa', awa' ; 
This house o' the Rhodes is a' in flame, 

I Kauld it time to ga.* 

O then bespyed hir sin dear lord, 

As hee cam owr the lee ; 
He sied his castle all in blase 

Sa far as he could see* 

Then eair, O sair, his mind misgave, 

And all his hart was wae ; 
Put on, put on, my wighty men. 

So fast as se can gae. 

Put on, put on, my wighty men, 

Sa fast ss se can drie ; 
For he that is hindmost of the thrang 

Sail neir get guid o' me. 

Than sum they rade, and some they rin, 

Fou fast out-owr the bent ; 
But eir the foremost could get up, 

Baith lady and babes were brent. 

He wrang bis hands, he rent his hair, 

And wept in teenefu' muid : 
O traitors, for this cruel deid 

Ze sail weep teirs o'bluid. 



St 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



1*0 



lift 



150 



155 



140 



V. 08, 103, O Gin, &c. a Seottbh idiom to espreie, met 
admiration. V. 100, 110, Thame, Ac. i. e. Them that look 
after omens of ill Inch, ill lack will follow. 



Sf 



BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPKakR 



And after the Gordon he is gane, 

Sa fast as he might drie ; 
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid 

He's wroken his dear ladie. 






tJt Since the foregoing ballad was first printed, 
die subject of it has been found recorded io Abp. 
8potswood's History of the Church of Scotland, 
p. S59 ; who informs us, that 

" Anno 1571. In the north parts of Scotland, 
Adam Gordon (who was deputy for his brother the 
Earl of Huntley) did keep a peat stir ; and, under 
colour of the queen's authority, committed divers 

oppressions, especially upon the Forbes 

Having killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the Lord 



Forbes. . . . Not long after, he sent to summon the 
house of Tavoy, pertaining to Alexander Forbes. 
The lady refusing to yield without direction from 
her husband, he nut fire unto it, and burnt her 
therein, with children and servaunts, being twenty- 
seven persons in alL 

"This inhuman and barbarous cruelty made his 
name odious, and stained all his former doings ; 
otherwise he was held very active and fortunate in 
his enterprises." 

This fact, which had escaped the Editor's notice, 
was in the most obliging manner pointed out to him 
by an ingenious writer who signs his name H*. H 
(Newcastle, May 9,) in the Gentleman's Maga 
sine for May, 1775, p. S19. 



TUB END OF THP FIBST BOOK. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK II. 



BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEARB. 



Our great dramatic poet having occasionally quoted 
many ancient ballads, and even taken the plot of 
one, if not more, of his plays from among them, it 
was judged proper to preserve as many of these as 
could be recovered, and, that they might be the 
more easily found, to exhibit them m one collective 
view. This second book is therefore set apart for 
the reception of such ballads as are quoted by 
Shakespeare^ or contribute in any degree to illus- 
trate his writings : this being the principal point in 
view, the candid reader will pardon the admission 
of some pieces that have no other kind of merit. 

The design of this book being of a dramatic ten- 
dency, it may not be improperly introduced with a 
few observations on the origin of the English Stage, 
and on the conduct of our first Dramatic Poets ; a 
subject which, though not unsuccessfully handled 
by several good writers already *, will yet perhaps 
admit of some further illustration. 

OK IBB OBiOIN OF TBB ENGLISH STAGE, &C 

It is well known that dramatic poetry in this and 
most other nations of Europe owes its origin, or at 
least its revival, to those religious shows, which in 
the dark ages were usually exhibited on the more 
solemn festivals. At those times they were wont 
to represent in the churches the lives and miracles 



* It*, WcffeiWi Shakeipeaie, voL v. p. 138,— Pref. to 
T>»*w#t . ( U Tim ft.- Meeoboni'a Aect. of Theet of Bq- 
n,|*e, &c Ac. TLete were all the author had seen when he 
ant drew ap this Bnay. 



of the saints, or some of the more important stories 
of Scripture* And as the most mysterious subjects 
were frequently chosen, such as the Incarnation, 
Passion, and Resurrection of Christ, &c. these ex- 
hibitions acquired the general name of Mysteries. 
At first they were probably a kind of dumb shows, 
intermingled, it may be, with a few short speeches ; 
at length they grew into a regular series of con- 
nected dialogues, formally divided into acts and 
scenes* Specimens of these in their most improved 
state (being at best but poor artless compositions) 
may be seen among Dodsley's Old Plays and in 
Osborne's Harleyan Miscel. How they were exhi- 
bited in their most simple form, we may learn from 
an ancient novel, often quoted by our old dramatic 
Poets, * entitled " a Merye Jest of a Man that 
was called Howleglas/'f occ, being a translation 
from the Dutch language, in which he is named 
UlenspiegU. Howleglass, whose waggish tricks are 
the subject of this book, after many adventures 
comes to live with a priest, who makes him his 
parish-clerk. This priest is described as keeping a 
Leman or concubine, who had but one eye, to whom 
Howleglass owed a g/udge for revealing his 
rogueries to his master. The story thus proceeds : 
" And than in the meane season, while Howleglas, 
was parysh clarke, at Easter they should play the 

• See Ben Johnaon'a Poetaster, act iii. aec 4, and h% 
Masque of The Fortunate Idea. WhaDey'e edit vol. n. 
p. 40, vol. vL p. 100. 

t Howleglait ii tald in the preface to have died in m,cccc,l. 
At the end of the book, in m,c<jc,l. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



59 



Resurrection of our Lords : and for because than the 
men wer not learned, nor could not read, the priest 
toke his leman, and pat her in the grave for an Aun- 
gell : and this Being Howleglas, toke to him iij of the 
symplest persons that were m the towne,that played 
the nj Maries; and the Person [i. e. Parson or Rec- 
tor] played Christe, with a baner in his hand. Than 
saide Howleglas to the symple persons, Whan the 
Anngell asketh you,whome yon seke.you maysaye, 
The parsons leman with one iye. Than it fortuned 
that the tyme was come that they must playe, and 
the Aungel asked them whom they sought, and than 
sayd they, as Howleglas had shewed and lerned 
them afore, and than answered they, We seke the 
priests leman with one iye. And than the prieste 
might heare that he was mocked. And whan the 
priestes leman herd that, she arose out of the grave, 
and would hare smyten with her fist Howleglas 
upon the eheke, hut she missed him and smote one 
or the simple persons that played one of the thre 
Maries ; and he gave her another ; and than toke 
she him by the heare [hair] ; and that Being his 
wyfe, came running hastely to smite the pnestes 
leman ; and than the priest seeing this, caste down 
hys baner and went to helpe his woman, so that the 
one gave the other sore strokes, and made great 
noyse in the churche. And than Howleglas seyng 
them lying* together by the eares in the bodi of the 
churche, went hie way out of the village, and came 
no more, there f c). 

As the old Mysteries frequently required the re- 
presentation of some allegorical personage, such as 
Death, Sin, Charity, Faith, and the like, by degrees the 
rude poets of those unlettered ages began to form 
complete dramatic pieces consisting entirely of such 
jjersouiications. These they entitled Moral Plays, 
or Moralities. The Mysteries were very inartificial, 
representing the Scripture stories simply according 
to the letter. But the Moralities are not devoid of 
invention ; they exhibit outlines of the dramatic art*, 
they contain something of a fable or plot, and even 
attempt to delineate characters and manners. I have 
now before me two that were printed early in tie 
reign of Henry VIII ; in which I think one may 
plainly discorer the seeds of Tragedy and Comedy : 
for which reason I shall give a short analysis of them 
both. 

One of them is entitled " Every Man" (d). The 
subject of this piece is the summoning of Man out 
of the world by Death ; and its moral, that nothing 
will then avail him but a well-spent life and the 
comforts of religion. This subject and moral are 
opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for 
that was the name generally given by our ancestors 
to the Prologue on their rude stage :) then God (•) 
is represented ; who, after some general com- 
plaints on the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Deth, 
and orders him to brine before his tribunal Every- 
man, for so is called the personage who represents 
the Human Race. Every-man appears, and receives 
the summons with all the marks of confusion and 
terror. When Death is withdrawn, Every-Man ap- 
plies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kin- 
dred, Goods, or Riches, but they successively 

(<0 *. lMrBYHTED..ir Wtllyam Copland: without 
date, 4to. bL leC among Mr. Garrick's Old Plays, K. vol. X. 

(*f) This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his 
S vols, of Old Plays, entitled, " The Origin of the English 
Drama," llmo. Oxford, 1773. See voL i. p. 17. 

it) The second person of the Trinity seems to be meant. 



renounce and forsake him. In this disconsolate 
state he betakes himself to Good Dedes, who, after 
upbraiding him with his long neglect of her (/), 
introduces him to her sister Knowledge, and she 
leads him to the " holy man Confession," who ap- 
points him penance : this he inflicts upon himself 
on the stsge, and then withdraws to receive the 
sacraments of the priest. On his return he begins 
to wax faint, and, after Strength, Beauty, Discre- 
tion, and Five Wits (g) have all taken their final 
leave of him, gradually expiree on the stage ; Good 
Dedes still accompanying nim to the last. Then an 
Aungell descends to sing bis Requiem ; and the Epi- 
logue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, who 
recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral : 

" 1f . This memorial! men may have in mynde, 
Ye herers, take it of worth old and yonge, 
And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in tbende, 
And remembre Beaute, Five Witts, Strength and 
They all at last do Every M an forsake ; [Discretion, 
Save his Good Dedes theje dothe he take ; 
But beware, for and they be small, 
Before God he hath no helpe at all," &c 

From this short analysis it may be observed, that 
" Every Man" is a grave solemn piece, not without 
some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and 
therefore may not improperly be referred to the class 
of Tragedy It is remarkable that in this old simple 
drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model 
of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply one, the 
time of action is that of the performance, the scene 
is never changed, nor the stage ever empty. Every- 
Man, the hero of the piece, after his first appear- 
ance never withdraws, except when he goes out to 
receive the sacraments, which could not well be ex- 
hibited in public ; and during his absence Know- 
ledge descants on the excellence and power of the 
priesthood, somewhat after the manner of the Greek 
chorus. And indeed, except in the circumstance of 
Every-Man'a expiring on the stage, the Sampson 
Agonistes of Milton is hardly formed on a severer 
plan (A). . 

The other play is entitled " Hick-Scorner" (t), and 
bears no distant resemblance to Comedy : its chief 
aim seems to be to exhibit characters and manners, its 
plot being much less regular than the foregoing. 
The Prologue is spoken by Pity represented under 
the character of an aged pilgrim ; he is joined by 
Contemplacyon and Perseverance, two holy men, 
who, after lamenting the degeneracy of the age, 
declare their resolution of stemming the torrent. 
Pity then is left upon the stage, and presently found 
by rrewyll. representing a lewd debauchee, who, 
with his dUsolute companion Imagination, relate 
their manner of life, and not without humour de- 
scribe the stews and other places of base resort. 
They are presently joined by Hick-Scorner, who is 
drawn as a libertine returned from travel, and 
agreeably to his name, scoffs at religion. These 
three are described ss extremely vicious, who 

(/) The before-mentioned are male characters. 

(J) i. e. The Five Senses. These are freqaently exhibited 
as live distinct personages upon the Spanish stage ; (see 
Riccoboni, p. M,) bat oar moralist has represented them all 

by one character. - .. -» 

(A) See more of Bvery-M an, in Series the Second, Pref 

to B, ii. Note. 

(i) u Imprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde,*' no date ; In 
4to. bl. let. This play has also been reprinted by Mr. Haw 
kins In bis " Origin of the English Drama," vol. L p. OB. 

D 



54 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



glory in every act of wickedness : at length two 
of them quarrel, and Pity endeavours to part the 
fray; on this they fall upon him, put him in 
the stocks, and there leave him. Pity, thus impri- 
soned, descants, in a kind of lyric measure on the pro- 
fligacy of the age, and in this situation is found by 
Perseverance and Contemplation, who set him at 
liberty, and advise him to go in search of the delin- 
quents. As soon as he is gone, Frewill appears 
again ; and, after relating in a very comic manner 
some of his rogueries and escapes from justice, is 
rebuked by the two holy men, who after a long alter- 
cation, at length convert him and his libertine com- 
panion Imaginacioun from their vicious course of 
life : and then the play ends with a few verses from 
Perseverance by way of epilogue. This and every 
morality I have seen conclude with a solemn prayer. 
They are all of them in rhyme ; in a kind of loose 
stanza, intermixed with distichs. 

It would be needless to point out the absurdities 
in the plan and conduct of the foregoing play : they 
are evidently great. It is sufficient to observe, that, 
bating the moral and religious reflection of Pity, &c. 
the piece is of a comic cast, and contains a humo- 
rous display of some of the vices of the age. Indeed 
the author has generally been so little attentive to 
the allegory, that we need only substitute other names 
to his personages, and we have real characters and 
living manners. 

We see then that the writers of these moralities 
were upon the very threshold of real tragedy and 
comedy ; and therefore we are not to wonder that 
tragedies and -comedies in form soon after took place, 
especially as the revival of learning about this time 
brought them acquainted with the Roman and Gre- 
cian models. 

II. At what period of time the moralities had 
their rise here, it is difficult to discover. But plays 
of miracles appear to have been exhibited in England 
soon after the Conquest. Matthew Paris tells us 
that Geoffrey, afterwards Abbot of St Albans, a 
Norman, who had been sent for over by Abbot 
Richard to take upon him the direction of the school 
of that monastery, coming too late, went to Dun- 
staple and taught in the abbey there; where he 
caused to be acted (probably by his scholars) a mira- 
cle play of St Catharine, composed by himself, (a). 
This was long before the year 1119, and probably 
within the 11th century. The above play of St 
Catharine was, for aught that appears, the first spec- 
tacle of this sort that was exhibited in these king- 
doms : and an eminent French writer thinks it was 
even the first attempt towards the revival of Dra- 
matic Entertainments in all Europe ; being long 
before the Representations of Mysteries in France ; 
for these did not begin till the year 1398 (6). 

But whether they derived their origin from the 
above exhibition or not, it is certain that Holy Plays, 



(a) Apud Dunestapttam. . . . qumdum htdum de tancta 
Katerina (qvem miracula vtugariter appeUamtu) fecit. 
Ad qua decoranda, petUt a eaerieta softer* Albani, utsibl 
Cava Chorales accommodarentur, et obtimdt. Et fuit 
ludui iUe de tancta Katerina, Vitas Abbat. ad fin. Hist. 
Mat Pari*, foL 1030, p. 36.— We sec here that Plays of 
Miracles were become common enough in the time of Mat. 
Paris, who flourished abont 1M0. fint that indeed appears 
from the more early writings of Fits-Stephens: quoted 
below. 

(6) Vid. Abregs Chron. de l'Hist de Pmnce par M 
Henault, a I'ann, 1170. 



representing the miracles and sufferings of the Saints, 
were become common in the reign of Henry II ; and 
a lighter sort of Interludes appear not to have been 
then unknown (<?). In the subsequent age of Chau- 
cer, " Plays of Miracles" in Lent were the common 
resort of idle gossips (d). 

They do not appear to have been so prevalent on 
the continent, for the learned historian of the council 
of Constance(e) ascribes to the English the introduc- 
tion of plays into Germany. He tells us that the 
Emperor, having been absent from the council for 
some time, was at his return received with great 
rejoicings, and that the English fathers in particular 
did, upon that occasion, cause a sacred comedy to be 
acted before him on Sunday Jan. 31, 1417; the sub- 
jects of which were: — The Nativity of .our Saviour; 
the Arrival of the Eastern Magi; and the Massacre 
by Herod. Thence it appears, says this writer, that 
the Germans are obliged to the English for the in- 
vention of this sort of spectacles, unknown to them 
before that period. 

The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic ex- 
hibitions of this kind, and some curious particulars 
relating to this subject, will appear from the Hous- 
hold Book of the fifth Earl of Northumberland, A. 
D. 1512 :(/) whence I shall select a few extracts, 
which show that the exhibiting scripture dramas on 
the great festivals entered into the regular establish- 
ment, and formed part of the domestic regulations 
of our ancient nobility ; and, what is more remark- 
able, that it was as much the business of the chap- 
lain in those days to compose Plays for the family, 
as it is now for nim to make sermons. 

" My Lordes Chapleyns in Household vj. vis. 
The Almonar, and if he be a maker of Interludys, 
than he to have a servaunt to the intent for writynge 
of the Parts ; and ells to have non. The maister of 
gramer, &c." Sect V. p. 44. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustoxnyth to gyf 
yerely if is lordship kepe a chapell and be at home, 
them of his lordschipes chapell, if they doo play the 
play of the Nativite uppon cristynmes day in the 
mornnvnge in my lords chapell befor his lordship 
— xxs.*" 8ect. XLIV. p. 343. 

" Item, ... to them of his lordship chappell and 
other his lordshipis servaunts that doith play the 
play befor his lordship uppon Shrof-Tewsday at 
night yerely in reward — xs. Ibid. p. 345. 

" Item, .... to them .... that playth the play of 



(c) See Fitz-Stephens's Description of London, preserved 
by Stow, (and reprinted with notes, &c. by the Rev. Mr. 
Pegge, in 1774, 4to.) Londonia pro tpectacaUetkeatrmWme* 
pro ludit scenic/*, ludo$ habet eanewret, rrpnmmtationm 
miraculorum, Ac. He is thought to have written in the 
reign of Hen. II., and to have died in that of Richard I. It 
is trne, at the end of this book we find mentioned Hemieum 
regem tertimm ; but this is doubtless Henry the Second's son, 
who was crownea during the life of his father, in 1170, and 
is generally distinguished as Rex juvenis. Res film*, and 
sometimes they were jointly named Regee Anglim. From a 
passage in his Chap. De Religion*, it should seem that the 
body of St. Thomas Becket was Just then a new acquisition 
to the Church of Canterbury. 

(d) See Prologue to Wife of Bath's Tale, v. 6137. Tyr- 
whitt's Ed. 

(e) M. L'Enfant Vid. Hist du Cone, de Cotvtance,J|vol. 
it p. 440. 

(f) " The regulations and establishments of the hoiwhold or 
Hen. Alg. Percy, fifth Earl of Northumb. Load. 1770." 8vo. 
Whereof a small impression was printed by order of the 
Ute Duke and Duchess of Northumberland to bestow in 
presents to their friends.— Although begun in 1912, some ot 
tbe Regulations were composed so late an 1925. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



35 



RtthJrreotion upon esturday in the mornnynge in 
Ja\y lordis ' chapelT befor his lordshipe— xxs. Ibid. 

" Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth yerly to 
gyf hym which is ordynede to be the Master of the 
Revells yerly in my lordis hous in cristmas for the 
overseyinge and orderinge of his lordschips playes, 
interludes and dresinge that is plaid befor his lord- 
ship in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas and 
they to have in rewarde for that caus yerly — xxs." 
Ibid. p. 346. 

" Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth to gyf 
every of the liij. Parsones that his lordschip admyted 
as his Players to com to his lordship yerly at Cris- 
tynmes ande at all other such tymes as his lordship 
shall comande them for playing of playe and inter- 
ludes affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for 
every of their fees for an hole yere" . . . Ibid. p. 351. 

" Item, to be payd ... for rewards to Players for 
dayes playd at Christynmas by stranegeres in my 
house after xxd.(g-) every play, by estimacion somme 
— xxxiijs. iiij"(fc). Sect I. p. 22. 

" Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh to gif 
yerely when his lordshipp is at home, to every erb's 
Players that comes to his lordshipe betwixt Cristyn- 
mas ande Candehnas, if he be his special lorde & 
frende & Kynsman — xxs." Sect. XLIIII. p. 340. 

" Item, My lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf 
yerely, when his lordship is at home to every lordis 
Players, that comyth to his lordshipe betwixt Cry- 
stynmaa and Canailmas — xs." Ibid. 

The reader will observe the great difference in 
the rewards here given to such Players as were 
retainers of noble personages, and such as are styled 
Strangers, or, as we may suppose, only strolers. 

The profession of a common player was about this 
time held by some in low estimation. In an old 
satire, entitled " Cock Lorreles Bote"(t) the author 
enumerating the most common trades or callings, as 
" carpenters, coopers, joyners," &c. mentions 

" Players, purse-cutters, money-batterers, 
Gofde-washers, tomblers, jogelers, 
Pardoners, etc" Sign. B. vj. 

III. It hath been observed already, that plays of 
Miracles, or Mysteries, as they were called, led to 
the introduction of Moral Plays or Moralites, which 
prevailed so early, and became so common, that, 
towards the latter end of King Henry Vllth's reign, 
John Baste], brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More, 
conceived a design of making them the vehicle of 
science and natural philosophy. With this view he 
published "A new Interlude and a Mery of the 
Nature of the Four Elements declarynge many proper 
points of Philosophy NaturaU, and of Dyvers 
Straunge Landys, (a) &c. It is observable that the 

(g) This was not so small a ram then ai h may now appear ; 
for in another part of this MS. the price ordered to be (Wen 
for a fat ox ia but 13a. 4d. and for a lean one 8a. 

(k) At this rate the number of plays acted mast have been 
twcntv. 

(<) Pr. at the Son in Fleet-st.by W. de Worde,no date, 
b. 1.410. 

(a) Mr. Garrlck has an imperfect copy, (Old Plays, L vol. 
iil.) The dramatis pcrsunse are, **S. The Messenger [or 
Prologue]. Nature naturate ; Humanyte ; Stndyotu Desire ; 
Sensoall Appetyte ; The Tavcrner ; Experyence ; Ygno- 
rannce (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a dysgy- 
synge.") Afterwards follows a table of the matters bandied 
In the interlude; among wgich are, "f. Of certeyn con- 
clusions proovynge the yerthe must nedes be ronnde, and 
that yt is in circumference above xx\ M. myle." " IT. Of 



poet speaks of the discovery of America as then 
recent; 

" Within this xx yere 

Westwarde be founde new landes 

That we never harde tell of before this," ore, 

The West Indies were discovered by Columbus 
in 1492, which fixes the writing of this play to 
about 1510 (two years before the date of the above 
Houshold Book.) The play of " Hick Scorner" was 
probably somewhat more ancient, as he still more 
imperfectly alludes to the American discoveries, 
under the name of " the Newe founde Hondo." 
(Sign. A. vij.) 

It is observable that in the olden moralities, as in 
that last mentioned, Every-man, &c, is printed no 
kind of stage direction for the exits and entrances of 
the personages, no division of acts and scenes. But 
in the moral interlude of " Lusty Juventus "(b) 
written under Edward VI., the exits and entrances 
began to be noted in the margin :(c) at length in 
Queen Elizabeth's reign moralities appeared formally 
divided into acts and scenes, with a regular pro- 
logue, &c One of these is reprinted by Dodsley. 

Before we quit this subject of the very early 
printed plays, it may just be observed, that, although 
so few are now extant, it should seem many were 
printed before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as at 
the beginning of her reign, her Injunctions in 1559 
are particularly directed to die suppressing of " many 
pamphlets, playes, and ballads ; that no manner of 
person shall enterprise to print any such, etc." but 
under certain restrictions. Vid. Sect/Vi, 

In the time of Hen. VIII., one or two dramatic 
pieces had been published under the classical names 
of comedy and tragedy, (rf) but they appear not to have 
been intended for popular use : it was not till the 
religious ferments had subsided that the public had 
leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In the reign of 
Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies began to appear 
in form, and, could the poets have persevered, the 
first models were good. " Corboduc," a regular 
tragedy, was acted in 1561 ; («) and Gascoigne, in 
1566, exhibited " Jocasta," a translation from Euri- 
pides, as also " The Supposes," a regular comedy, 
from Ariosto : near thirty years before any of Shake- 
speare's were printed. 

The people however still retained a relish for their 



certeyne points of cosmographye— and of dyvers strannge 
regyons— and of the new founde landys, and the maner of 
the people." This part is extremely curious, as it shows 
what notions were entertained of the new American dis- 
coveries by oar own countrymen. 

(ft) Described in Series the Second, preface to book iL 
The Dramatis Persona of this piece are, "*. Messenger, 
Lusty Javcntua,Good Connsail,Knowledge,8athan the devyll, 
Hypocrisie, Fellowship, AbominaUe-lyving an harlot], God's 
mereifol-promises." 

(ej I have also discovered some few Exeatt and Intrats 
in the very old interlude of the *' Four Elements." 

(d) Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to bis 
Mystery of "God's Promises," in 1538. In tS40 John 
Palsgrave, B.D. had republished a Latin comedy, called 
" Acolastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells us 
(vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had " a good 
comedie of Plautus plated" before him at Greenwich; but 
this was in Latin, as Mr. Fanner informs us in his curious 
" Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 8vo. p. 31. 

«) See Ames, p. 310. This play appears to have been 

first printed under the name of " Gorbuduc;" th«p under 
that of " Ferrer and Porrer," In 1569 ; and *tajn under 

" Gorboduc," 1500. Ames calls the first edition quarto, 

Langbaine, octavo, and Tanner lSmo. 

o S 



\ 



96 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGfc 



old mysteries and moralities (/), and the popular 
dramaiio poets seem to have made them their models. 
From the graver sort of moralities our modern 
Tragedy appears to have derived its origin ; as our 
Comedy evidently took its rise from the lighter 
interludes of that kind. And as most of these pieces 
contain an absurd mixture of religion and buf- 
foonery, an eminent critic (g) has well deduced from 
thence the origin of our unnatural Tragi-comedies. 
Even after the people had been* accustomed to 
tragedies and comedies, moralities still kept their 
ground : one of them entitled " The New Custom"(M 
was printed so late as 1573 : at length they assumed 
the name of masques, (t) and, with some classical 
improvements, became in the two following reigns 
the favourite entertainments of the court. 

IV. The old mysteries, which ceased to be acted 
after the reformation, appear to have given birth to a 
Third Species of stage exhibition, which, though 
now confounded with tragedy and comedy, were by 
oar first dramatic writers considered as quite dis- 
tinct from them both : these were historical playB, 
or Histories, a species of dramatic writing, which 
resembled the old mysteries in representing a series 
of historical events simply in the order of time in 
which they happened, without any regard to the 
three great unities. These pieces seem to differ 
from tragedies, just as much as historical poems do 
from Epic: as the Pharsalia does from the iEneid. 

What might contribute to make dramatic poetry 
take this form was, that soon after the mysteries 
ceased to be exhibited, was published a large col- 
lection of poetical narratives, called " The Mirrour 
for Magistrates, (a) wherein a great number of the 
most eminent characters in English history are 
drawn relating their own misfortunes. This book 
was popular, and of a dramatic cast ; and therefore, 
as an elegant writer (6) has well observed, might have 
its influence in producing historical plays. These 
narratives probably furnished the subjects, and the 
ancient mysteries suggested the plan. 

There appears indeed to have been one instance of 
an attempt at an Historical Play itself, which was per- 
haps as early as any mystery on a religious subject ; 
for such, 1 think, we may pronounce the representa- 
tion of a memorable event in English history, that 
was expressed in actions and rhimes. This wss 
the old Coventry play of "Hock Tuesday,"(c) founded 
on the story of the massacre of the Danes, as it hap- 
pened on St. Brice's night, November 13, 100*.(d) 
I'he play in question was performed by certain men 
of Coventry, among the other shows and entertain- 
ments at Kenilworth Castle, in July 1575, prepared 



if) The general reception the old Moralities bad upon the 
•tage will account for the fondness of all onr first poets for 
allegory. Subjects of this kind were familiar with every 
one. 



(g) Bp. Warbnrt. Shaken. voL v. 



. ; Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, voL I. 

(i) In some of these appeared chara* ten fell as extraordinary 
as in any of the old Moralities. In Ben Jonson's Masque of 
Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced Pye. 

(a) The first part of which was printed in 1 659. 

(b) CataL of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1067. 

(c) This mast not be confounded with the mysteries acted 
"l .W 1 Christt day by the Franciscans at Coventry, 
which were also called Coventry Plays, and of which an 
account is given from T. Warton's Hist of Eng. Poetry, Ac 
in M stone's Shaks. voL ii. part ii. pag. 13, 14. 

(d) Not 1013, as printed In Laneham's Letter, nuntioned 
below. 



for Queen Elizabeth, and this the rather M because 
the matter mentioneth how valiantly our English 
women, for the love of their country, behaved them- 
selves." 

The writer, whose words are here quoted, (e) 
hath given a short description of the performance; 
which seems on that occasion to have been without 
recitation or rimes, and reduced to mere dumb- 
show ; consisting of violent skirmishes and encoun- 
ters, first between Danish and English "lance- 
knights on horse back," armed with spear and shield ; 
and afterwards between " hosts" of footmen : which 
at length ended in the Danes being " beaten down, 
overcome, and many led captive by our English 
women." (f) 

This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhi- 
bited in their city yearly, and which had been of 
great antiquity and long continuance there,(£) had 
of late been suppressed, at the instance of some well 
meaning but precise preachers, of whose " sourness" 
herein the townsmen complain ; urging that their 
play was " without example of ill manners, papistry, 
or any superstition ;"(«) which shows it to have 
been entirely distinct from a religious mystery. 
But having been discontinued, and as appears from 
the narrative, taken up of a sudden after the sports 
were begun, the players apparently had not been 
able to recover the old rhimes, or to procure new 
ones, to accompany the action ; which if it originally 
represented " the outrage and importable insolency 
of the Danes, the grievous complaint of Huna, king 
Ethelred's chieftain in wars* , his counselling and 
contriving the pict to dispatch them ; concluding 
with the conflicts above mentioned, and their final 
suppresion— " expressed in actions and rhimes 
after their manner,"(rt one can hardly conceive a 
more regular model of a complete drama ; and, if 
taken up soon after the event, it must have been the 
earliest of the kind in Europe^ 

Whatever this old play, or "storial show,"(&) 
was at the time it was exhibited to Queen Elizabeth, 
it had probably our young Shakespeare for a spec- 
tator, who was then m his twelfth year, and doubt- 
less attended with all the inhabitants of the sur- 
rounding country at these "princely pleasures of 
Kenelworth,"(J) whence Stratford is only a few 
miles distant And as the Queen was much diverted 
with the Coventry play, "whereat her Majesty 
htught well," and rewarded the performers with 3 

(f) Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a fall descrip- 
ton ot the Shows, 4ec. is reprinted at large in Nicholls'i 
Progresses of Q. Elisabeth, &c. vol. i. 4 o, 1788. - That, 
writer's orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not here 
followed. 

Laneham describes this play of Hoes Tuesday, which 
wss " pit sented in an historical cne by certain good-hearted 
men of Coventry" (p. 33), and which was " wont to be 
piay'd in their chle yearly" (p. S3 J, as if it were peculiar 
to them, terming it " their old storial show"(p 31).— And so 
it might be ss represented and expressed by them " afict 
their manner" (p. 33) : although we are also told by Bevil 
Higgons, that St. Brier's Eve was still celebrated by the 
Northern English In commemoration of this massacre ot 
the Danes, the women beating br..s? instruments, and sing- 
ing old rhimes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See his 
Short View of Eng. History, Svo, u. 17. (The Preface is 
dated 1734). 

(f) Laneham, p. 37. (?) Ibid p. 33. 

(A) Ibid. • Ibid. p. 33. (i) Ibid. p. 83. 

t The Rhimes. &c. prove this plsy to have been in Bug 
li.h, whereas Mr. Thus. War ton thinks the Mysteries cotn- 

ftotetl before 1338 were in Latin, llalooe's Shakesp. vol. 
i. lit. ii. p. 0. 
(A) Laneham, p. 33. (!) See Nichols's Progresses, vol L p. 57. 






ON THE ORIGIN OF THE EiNOLlSH STAGE. 



bucks, and 5 marks in money : who, " what rejoicing 
upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon 
the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never 
so dignified, nor ever any players before so beatified :" 
but especially if our young bard afterwards gained 
admittance into the castle to see a play, which the 
same evening, after supper, was there " presented 
of a very good theme, but to set forth by the actors' 
well handling, that pleasure and mirth made it seem 
very short, though it lasted two good hours and 
more(m)," we may imagine what an impression 
was made on his infant mind. Indeed the dramatic 
cast of many parts of that superb entertainment, 
which continued nineteen days, and was the most 
splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom j 
the addresses to the Queen in tne personated charac- 
ters of Sybille, a savage man, ana Sylvanus, as she 
approached or departed from the castle ; and, on the 
water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the Lake, 
must have had a very gpeat effect on a young imagi- 
nation, whose dramatic powers were hereafter to 
astonish the world. 

But that the historical play was considered by 
our old writers, and by Shakespeare himself, as dis- 
tinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently 
appear from various passages in their works. " Of 
late days,"says Stow, " in place of those stage plays(n) 
hath been used comedies, tragedies, enterludea and 
histories both true and fayned(o)." — Beaumont and 
Fletcher, in die prologue to " The Captain," say, 



«< 



This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy, 
Nor History." 

Polonius in " Hamlet" commends the actors, as the 
best in the world, " either for tragedie, comedie, 
historic, pastorall,"&c. And Shakespeare's friends, 
Heminge and Condell, in the first folio edit of his 
plays, in 1623 (p), have not only entitled their book 
" Mr. William Shakespeare's comedies, histories, 
and tragedies :" but in their table of contents have 
arranged them under those three several heads; 
placing in the class of histories, " K. John, Richard 
II, Henry IV, * pts. Henry V, Henry VI, S pts. 
Rich. Ill, and Henry VIII ;" to which they might 
have added such of his other plays as have their sub- 
jects taken from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's 
lives. 

Although Shakespeare is found not to have been 
the first who invented this species of drama(g), yet 
he cultivated it with such superior success, and 
threw upon this simple inartificial tissue of scenes 
such a blaze of genius that his histories maintain 
their ground in defiance of Aristotle and all the 
critics of the classic school, and will ever continue 
to interest and instruct an English audience. 

Before Shakespeare wrote, historical plays do not 
appear to have attained this distinction, being not 
mentioned in Q. Elizabeth's licence in lo74(r) to 
James Burbage and others, who are only im powered 
" to use, ezercyse, and occupie, the arte and facultye 



(«) Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening. 
July 9. 

in) The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners well in 
1 1400. 

(o> See Sum's Survey of London, 1603, 4to, p. 94, (»aid in 
the title page lo be "written in the year 1598.") See also 
' Warton's Observations on Spenser, vol. ii, p. 100. 

<t>> The same distinction is continued in the 2d. and 3d. 
folios. Ac 

iq> See Maine's Shakeap. vol- L part ii. p. 31. 

(r) See Malone't Sh»fce»p. VoL L pt. ii. p. 37. 



/ 



of playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes, stage- 
playes, and such other like.""- But when Shakes- 
peare's histories had become the ornaments of the 
stage, they were considered by the public, and by 
himself, as a formal and necessary species, and are 
thenceforth so distinguished in public instruments. 
They are particularly inserted in the licence granted 
by K. James I, in 1603(f), to W. Shakespeare 
himself, and the players his fellows; who are 
authorized " to use ana exercise the arte and faculty 
of playing comedies, tragedies, histories, inter- 
ludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, and such 
like." 

The same merited distinction they continued 
to maintain after his death, till the theatre itself was 
extinguished ; for they are expressly mentioned in 
a warrant in 1622, for licensing certain " late come- 
dians of Q. Anne deceased, to bring up children in 
the qualitie and exercise of playing comedies, his- 
tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, 
and such like*." The same appears in an admoni- 
tion issued in 1637(0 by Philip Earl of Pembroke 
and Montgomery, then Lord Chamberlain, to the 
master and wardens of the company of printers and 
stationers ; wherein is set forth the complaint of 
his Majesty's servants the players, that " diverse of 
their books of comedyes and tragedyes, chronicle- 
historyes, and the like," had been printed and pub- 
lished to their prejudice, &c. 

This distinction, we see, prevailed for near half a 
century ; but after the Restoration, when the stage 
revived for the entertainment of a new race of 
auditors, many of whom had been exiled in France, 
and formed their taste from the French theatre, 
Shakespeare's histories appear to have been no longer 
relished ; at least the distinction respecting them is 
dropt in the patents that were immediately granted 
after the king's return. 

This appears not only from the allowance to Mr. 
William Beeston in June 1660(u), to use the house 
in Salisbury-court " for a play-house, wherein com- 
edies, tragedies, tragi-comediea, pastoralls, and inter- 
ludes, may be acted,*' but also from the fuller grant 
(dated August 21, 1760)(v)to Thomas Killigrew, 
Esq. and Sir William Davenant, lent, by which 
they have authority to erect two companies of players, 
ana to fit up two theatres " for the representation 
of tragydies, comedyes, playes, operas, and all other 
entertainments of that nature." 

But while Shakespeare was the favourite dramatic 
poet, his histories had such superior merit, that he 
might well claim to be the chief, if not the only his- 
toric dramatist that kept possession of the English 
stage ; which gives a strong support to the tradition 
mentioned by Gildon(to),that, in a-conversation with 
Ben Jonson, our bard vindicated his historical 
plays, by urging, that, as he had found " the nation 
in general very ignorant of history, he wrote them 

(«) Ibid. p. 40. 

• Ibid. p. 411. Here Histories, or Historical Plays, are 
found totally to have excluded the mention of Tragedies ; a 
proof of their superior popularity. In an Order for the 
King's Comedians to attend K. Ch tries I in his summer's 
progress, 1 036, (Ibid. p. 144.) Histories are not particularly 
mentioned : bu so neither are tragedies : they being briefly 
directed to " act playes, eomedyes, and interludes, without 
any lett," &c (f) Ibid, p. 130. 

(it) This is believed to be the date by Mr. If alone, voL 
U. pt. ii. p 239. (v) Ibid. p. 844. 

(w) See Malone's Shakesp. voL vl. p. 427. This Ingenious 
writer will, with his known liberality, excuse the difference 
of opinion here entertained concerning the above tradition. 




in order to instruct the people in this particular." 
This is assigning not only a good motive, bat a very 
probable reason for his preference of this species of 
composition ; since we cannot doubt but his illite- 
rate countrymen would not only want such instruc- 
tion when be first began to write, notwithstanding 
the obscure dramatic chroniclers who preceded him ; 
but also that they would highly profit by his admi- 
rable lectures on English history so long as he con- 
tinued to deliver them to his audience. And, as it 
implies no claim to his being the firtt who intro- 
duced our chronicles on the stage, I see not why 
the tradition should be rejected. 

Upon the whole we have had abundant proof, that 
both Shakespeare and his contemporaries considered 
his histories, or historical plays, as of a legitimate 
distinct species, sufficiently separate from tragedy 
and comedy ; a distinction which deserves the par- 
ticular attention of his critics and commentators ; 
who, by not adverting to it, deprive him of his proper 
defence and best vindication for his neglect of the 
Unities, and departure from the classical dramatic 
forms. For, if it be the first canon of sound criti- 
cism to examine any work by whatever rule the 
author prescribed for his own observance, then we 
ought not to try Shakespeare's Histories by the ge- 
neral laws of tragedy or comedy. Whether the rule 
itself be vicious or not, is another inquiry ; but cer- 
tainly we ought to examine a work only by those 
principles according to which it was composed. This 
would save a deal of impertinent criticism. 

V. We have now brought the inquiry as low as 
was intended, but cannot quit it, without entering 
into a short description of what may be called the 
(Economy of the ancient English stage. 

Such was the fondness of our forefathers for dra- 
matic entertainments, that not fewer than nineteen 
play-houses had been opened before the year 1633, 
when Prynne published his Histriomastiz(a). From 
this writer it should seem that " tobacco, wine and 
beer(fc)," were in those days the usual accommodations 
in the theatre, as within our memory at Sadler's 
Wells. 

With regard to the players themselves, the several 
companies were (as hath been already shown (c) re- 



Co) He apeaks in p. 402, of the Playhouses in Bishopagate- 
atreet, and on Ludgale-hill, which are not among these ren- 
ted! enumerated In the Preface to Dodsl ys's Old Plays. 
Nay, it appears from Rymer's MSS. that twenty-three 
Playhouses had been at different periods open in London : 
and even six of them at one time. See Maione's Shakesp. 
vol. i. pt. il. p. 48. 

(b) So, I think, we may Infer from the following passage, 
vie. How many are there, who, according to their several 
quail lies, spend 2d. 3d. 4d 6d, 13d. 18d. 2s. and sometimes 
4s. or 5s. at a play-house day by day, if coach-hire, boat- 
hire, tobacco, wine, beere, and sncb like vaine expences, 
which playes do usually occasion, be cast into the reckoning V 
Prynne's Histriom. p. 322. 

Bat that tobacco was smoked in the playhouses, appears 
from Taylor the water-poet., in his proclamation for tobacco's 
propagation. *" Let play-houses, drinking-schools, taverns, 
&c. be continually haunted with the contain! nous vapours 
of It; nay (if it be possible J bring it Into the Churches, and 
there choak np their preachers/' (Works, p. 293.) And 
this was really the case at Cambridge : James I. sent a letter, 
in 1007, againtt " taking tobacco" in St. Mary's. So I 
learn from my friend Dr. Farmer. 

A gentleman has informed me, that once going into a 
church in Holland, he saw the male part of the audience 
sitting with their hats on, smoking tobacco, while tr» 
preacher was holding forth in his morning gown. 

(c) See the extracts above, in p. 139 from the E. of Ncj 
thumb. Hoashold Book. 



tainers, or menial servants to particular noblemen,(<f) 
who protected them in the exercise of their profes- 
sion ; and many of them were occasionally Strollers, 
that travelled from one gentleman's house to another. 
Yet so much were they encouraged, that, notwith- 
standing their multitude, some of them acquired 
large fortunes. Edward Allen, master of the play- 
house called the Globe, who founded Dulwich col- 
lege, is a known instance. And an old wrirer speaks 
of the very inferior actors, whom he calls the hire- 
lings, as living in a degree of splendour, which was 
thought enormous in that frugal age(e). 

At the same time the ancient prices of admission 
were often very low. Some houses had penny- 
benches(/). The " two-penny gallery" is mentioned 
in the prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman- 
Hater (g). And seats of three-pence and a groat seem 
to be intended in the passage of Prynne above refer- 
red to. Yet different houses varied in their prices : 
that play-house called the Hope had seats of five 
several rates from six-pence to half-a-crown( &)• But 



(d) See the Pref. to Doddey's Old Plays.— The author of 
an old invective against the Stage, called, A third Blast of 
Retrait from Plaiea, ftc, 1580, 12mo, says, "Alas I that 
private affection should so raigne in the nobilitie, that to 
pleasure their servants, and to upholde them in their vanitye. 
they should restraine the magistrates from executing their 
office (....They [the nobility; are thought to be covetous by 
permitting their servants... to live at the devotion or almes 
of other men, passing from countrie to eountrie, from one 
gentleman's bouse to another, offering their service, which 
Is a kind of beggerle. Who iudeede, to speake more truelie, 
are become beggert for their servants. For comonlie the 
good-wii, men beare to their Lordes, makes them draw the 
stringes of their parses to extend their liberalitie.** Yid. 
pag. 75, 76, Ac. 

(e) Stephen Gosson, in hb Schoole of Abuse, 1570, 12mo. 
fo. 13, says thus of what he terms in his margin Players- 
men : Over lashing in apparel is so common a fault, that 
the very hyerlings of some of our Players, which stand at 
revirslon of vi s. by the week, jet under gentlemen* nores 
in anus of alike, exercising themselves to prating on the 
stage, and common scoffing when they come abrode, where 
they look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom 
the Sunday before they begged an almes. I speake not 
this, as though everye one that professeth the qualltle so 
abused himaelfe, for it is well knowen, that some of them 
are sober, discreetc, properly learned, honest housholders 
and cititens, well-thought on among their neighbours at 
home," [he seems to mean Edw. Allen above mentioned] 
" though the pryde of their shadowes (I mcane those hauge- 
byes, whom they succour with stipend) cause them to be 
somewhat il-talked of abroad. 

Iu a subsequent period we have the following satirical 
fling at the showy exterior and supposed profits of the actors 
of that time.— Vid. Greene's Groats worth of Wit, 1825, 4to. 
"What is your profession t "— " Truly, sir, ....1 am a 
Player." "A Player?.... I took yon rather for a Gentle- 
man of great living ; for, if by outward habit men should be 
censured, I tell you, you would be taken for a substantial 
man." "So I am where I dwell. ....What, though the 
world once went hard with me, when I was fayne to carry 
my playing-fardle a foot-backe: tempera mutantitr....for 
my very share in playing apparrell will not be sold for too 
hundred pounds. . . .Nay more, I can serve to make a pretty 
speech, for I was a country author, passing at a Moral, &c." 
See Roberto's Tale, sign. D. 3. b. 

(/) So a MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet- 
writer. And this is confirmed by Taylor the Water-poet, in 
his Praise of Beggerle, p. 09. 

** Yet have I seen a begger with bis many, [sc vermin]. 
Come at a play-house, all in for one penny.'' 



u 



(a) So in the Belman's Night-walks by Decker, 1616, 4to. 

Pay thy two-pence to a Player, In this gallery tboa mayest 
sit by a harlot/' 

(h) Induct to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew-fair. An ancient 
satirical piece, called " The Blacke Book, Lund. 1604, 4to." 
talks of "The sir-penny Roomes In Playhouses;" and 
eaves a legacy to one whom he calls " Arch-tobacco taker 
•f England, in ordinaries, upon gtaget both common and 
orivatt." 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



39 



a shilling seems to hare been the usual price(i) of 
what is now called the Pit, which probably had its 
name from one of the play-houses having been a 
Cock-pit(*). 

The day originally set apart for theatrical exhibi- 
tion appears to bare been Sunday ; probably because 
the first dramatic pieces were of a religious cast. 
During a great part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the 
playhouses were only licenced to be opened on that 
day (J) ; but before the end of her reign, or soon 
after, this abuse was probably removed. 

The usual time of acting was early in the after- 
noon^), plays being generally performed by day- 
light^). All female parts were performed by men, no 
English actress being ever seen on the public stage(o), 
before the Civil Wars. 



(i) Shakesp. ProL to Hen. vilj«— Beaum. and Fletch. ProL 
to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover. 

(a) Thii etymoloev hath been objected to by a very inge- 
nious writer (aee Malone's Shakesp. vol. L pt ii. p. 50), 
who thinks it questionable, because, in St Mary's church 
at Cambridge, the area that is under the pulpit, and sur- 
rounded by the galleries, is (now) called the pi*; which, he 
says, no one can suspect to have been a cock-vit, or that a 
playhouse phrase could be applied to a church.— But who- 
ever is acquainted with the licentiousness of boys, will nut 
think it impossible that they should thus apply a name so 
peculiarly expressive of its situation : which from frequent 
use might at length prevail among the senior members of 
the university ; especially when those young men became 
seniors themselves. The name of pit, so applied at Cam- 
bridge, must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until it 
can be shown that the area in other churches was usually so 
caued. 

(I) So Ste. Gosson, In his Schoole of Abuse, 1570, lxmo, 
ipeaking of the players, says, M These, because they are al- 
lowed to play every Sunday, make iiii or v. Sundayes at 
least every week, foL 14. — So the author of a Second and 
Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies, 1580, ISmo. " Let the 
magistrate but repel them from the libertie of placing on the 
Sabbotb-daie. ... To plaie on the Sabboth is but a privi- 
lege of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, were it 
tborougMy followed." pag. 61,03. So again, " Is not the 
Sabboth of al other dales the most abused f . . . Wherefore 
abuse not so the Sabboth-dale, my brethren ; leave not the 
temple of the Lord." . . . . " Those unsaverie morsels of 
unseemelie sentences passing out of the mouth of a ruffenlie 
plaier, doth more content the huogrie humors of the rude 
multitude, and carrleth better rellisn in their mouthes, than 
tbe bread of the worde, dee." Vld. pag. 03, 60, 60, &c. I 
do not recollect that exclammations of this kind occur in 
Frynne, whence I conclude that this enormity no longer 
snbsisted In his time. 

It should also seem, from the author of the Third Blast 
above quoted, that the churches still continued to be used 
occasionally for theatres. Thus, In p. 77, he says, that the 
flayers, (who, as hath been observed, were serf ants of tbe 
nobility,) " under the title of their maisters, or as reteioers, 
are privUedged to roave abroad, and permitted to publish 
their mametree in everie temple of God, and that through- 
out England, unto tbe horrible contempt of praier." 

(as) "He entertalnes us" (says Overbury in bis character 
« fan Actor) " in the best leasure of our life, that is, betweene 
n eales ; the most unlit time either for study, or bodily ex* 
irdse." — Even so late as in the reign of Cha. II, Plajs 
generally began at 3 in the afternoon. 

(*) See Blogr. Brit 1. U7,n. D. 

(o) I say " no English Actress— on the public stage," be- 

«ause Prynne speaks *>f it as an unusual enormity, that 

j ' " they had French-women actors In a play not long since 

M ersonated in Blackfriars Playhoose." This was in 16». 

j id. page S1A. And though female parts were performed b" 

I men or beys on the public stage, yet in masques at court, 



Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furniture 
and ornaments, a writer of King Charles the Second's 
thne(p), who well remembered the preceding age, 
assures us, that in general " tbey had no other scenes 
nor decorations of the stage, but only old tapestry, 
and the stage strewed with rushes, with habits ac- 
cordingly (q)" 

Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibitions, 
&c. splendid when compared with what he saw 
abroad. Speaking of the theatre for comedies at 
Venice, he says, " The house is very beggarly and 
base, in comparison of our stately playhouses in 
England: neyther can their actors compare with 
ours for apparrell, shewes, and musicke. Here I 
observed certaine things that I never saw before : 
for I saw women act, a thing that I never saw 
before, though I have heard that it hath been some- 
times used m London : and they performed it with 
as good a grace, action, gesture, and whatsoever 
convenient for a player, as ever 1 saw any mnscmline 
actor(r)." 

It ought, however, to be observed, that, amid such 
a multitude of playhouses as subsisted in the Me- 
tropolis before the Civil Wars, there must have 
been a great difference between their several accom- 
modations, ornaments, and prices; and that some 
would be much more showy than others, though 
probably all were much inferior in splendour to the 
two great theatres after the Restoration. 

• # * The preceding Essay, although some of the 
materials are new arranged, hath received no alte- 
ration deserving notice, from what it was iu the 
Second edition, 1767, except in Section iv, which in 
thepresent impression hath been much enlarged. 

This is mentioned, because, since it was first pub- 
lished, the History of the English Stage hath been 
copiously handled by Mr. Thomas Warton in his 
" History of English Poetry, 1774, &c." 3 vols. 4to. 
(wherein is inserted whatever in these volumes fell 
in with his subject) ; and by Edmond Malone, Eso. 
who, in his " Historical Account of tbe English. 
Stage/' (Shakesp. vol. i, pt. ii, 1790,) hath added 
greatly to our knowledge of the economy and usages 
of our ancient theatres. 



the queen and her ladies made no scruple to perform the 
principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and 
Charles I. 

Sir William Davenant, after the Restoration, introduced 
women, scenery, and higher prices. See Cibber's Apology 
for his own Life. 

(») See a short Discourse on the English Stage, subjoined to 
Flecknor*s " Love's Kingdom/' 1074, lsmo. 

(q) It appears from an Epigram of Taylor the Water-poet, 
that one of the principal Theatres in his time, vis. Tbe Globe 
cm the Bankside, Sootbwark, (which Ben Jonson calls the 
Glory of the Bank, and Fort of the whole parish,) had been 
covered with thatch till it was burnt down in 1813.— <Sec 
Taylor's Sculler, Eplg. 22, p. SI. Jonson's Execration on 
Vulcan. 

Puttenham tells us they used Visards hi his time, " partly 
to supply the want of players, when there were more parts 
than there were personal or that it was not thought meet to 
trouble., princes chambers with too many folkes." Art of 
Eng. Poes. 1380, p. 96. From the last clanae. It should 
seem that they were chiefly used in the Masques at Court* 
(r) Coryate's Crudities, 4to, 151 1, p. *47. 






• l 



*Q 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY, 



— were three noted outlaws, whose skill in 
archery rendered them formerly as famous in the 
North of England, as Robin Hood and his fellows 
were in the midland counties. Their place of resi- 
dence was in the forest of Englewood, not far from 
Carlisle, (called corruptly in the ballad English- 
wood, whereas Engle- or Ingle-wood signifies wood 
for firing.) At what time they lived does not 
appear. The author of the common ballad on "The 
pedigree, education, and marriage, of Robin Hood," 
makes them contemporary with Robin Hood's 
father, in order to give him the honour of beating 
them: via. 

The father of Robin a forrester was, 

And he shot in a lusty long-bow 
Two north-country miles and an inch at a shot, 

As the Pindar of Wakefield does know : 

For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough, 

And William a Clowdeslee 
To shoot with our Forester for forty mark ; 

And our Forester beat them all three. 

Collect, of Old Ballads, 1797, 1 voL p. 67. 

This seems to prove that they were commonly 
thought to have lived before the popular hero of 
Sherwood. 

Our northern archers were not unknown to their 
southern countrymen : their excellence at the long- 
bow is often alluded to by our ancient poets. Shaks- 
peare, in his comedy of " Much adoe about nothing," 
act 1, makes Benedicke confirm his resolves of not 
yielding to love, by this protestation, "If I do, hang 
me in a bottle like a cat 4 , and shoot at me, and he 
that hits me, let him be clapt on the shoulder, and 
called Adam :" meaning Adam Bell, as Theobald 
rightly observes, who refers to one or two other 
passages in our old poets wherein he is mentioned. 
The Oxford editor has also well conjectured, that 
" Abraham Cupid," in Romeo and Juliet, act ii. so. 1, 
should be " Adam Cupid," in allusion to our archer. 
Ben Jonson has mentioned Clym o' the Clough in hit 
Alchemist, act i, sc. 3. And Sir William Davenant, 
in a mock poem of his, called " The Long Vacation 
in London/' describes the attorneys and proctors, 
as making matches to meet in Finsbury fields. 

" With loynes in canvass bow-case tyde \ : 
Where arrowes stick with mickle pride ; . . .. 

Like ghosts of Adam Bell and Clymme. 
Sol sets for fear they'l shoot at him. 

Works, 1673, fol. p. 291. 

^ I have only to add further concerning the prin- 
cipal hero of this ballad, that die Bells were noted 
rojrues in the north so late as the time of Queen 
Elizabeth. ' See in Rymer's Foedera, a letter from 



• Bottles formerly were of leather ; though perhaps a 
wooden bottle might be here meant It ii still a diversion 
In Scotland to hang np a cat In a small cask, or firkin, half 
filled with soot ; and then a parcel of clowns on horseback 
try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their dex- 
terity In escaping before the contents fall upon them. 

♦ i. «. Each with a canvass bow-case tied round bis loins. 



Lord William Howard to some of the officers of 
state, wherein he mentions them. 

As for the following stanzas, which will be judged 
from the style, orthography, and numbers, to be of 
considerable antiquity, they were here given (cor- 
rected in some places by a MS. copy in the Editor's 
old folio) from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London 
in Lothburge by William Copland (no date). That 
old quarto edition seems to be exactly followed in 
" Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, &c. Lond. 
1791," 8vo., the variations from which, that occur 
in the following copy, are selected from many others 
in the folio MS. above mentioned, and when dis- 
tinguished by the usual inverted ' comma' have been 
assisted by conjecture. 

In the same MS. this ballad is followed by another, 
entitled Younge Cloudeslee, being a continuation of 
the present story, and reciting the adventures of Wil- 
liam of Cloudesly's son : but greatly inferior to this 
both in merit and antiquity. 

PART THE FIRST. 

Mbrt it was in the grene forest 

Amonge the leves grene, 
Whereas men hunt east and west 

Wyth bowes and arrowes kene ; 

To raise the dere out of theyr denne ; 6 

Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene ; 

As by thre yemen of the north countrey. 
By them it is I meane. 

The one of them bight Adam Del, 

The other Clym of the Clough*, 10 

The thyrd was William of Cloude»ly, 

An archer good ynough. 

They were outlawed for venyson, 

These yemen everychone ; 
They Bwore them brethren upon a day I.) 

To Englyshe wood for to gone. 

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen, 

That of myrthes loveth to here : 
Two of them were single men, 

The third had a wedded fere. 99 

Wyllyam was the wedded man, 

Muche more than was hys care : 
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day, 

To Carleilehe would fore, 

For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife, 25 

And with his chyldren thre. 
By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel, 

Not by the counsell of me : 

For if ye go to Carlile, brother, 55 

And from thys wylde wode wende, 

If that the justice may you take, 
Your lyfe were at an ende. 

V. 24, Caerlel, in PC. passim. 
* CIpim of the Clough means Clem, rciementl of th« 
Cliff: for so dough signifies in the North. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



4t 



1 



If that I come not to-morowe, brother, 

By pryme to you agayne, 
Truste you then that I am ' taken/ 35 

Orwe that I am slayne. 

He toke hys leave of hya brethren two, 

And to Carlile he ia gon : 
There he knocked at his owne windowe 

Shortlye and anone. 40 

Wher be yon, fayre Alyce, he sayd, 

My wife and chyldren three 1 
Lyghtly let in tbyne owne busbande, 

Wyllyam of Clpudeslse, 

Alas! then sayde fayre Alyce, 45 

And syghed wonderous sore, 
Toys place hath ben beaette for you 

Thys halfe a yere and more. 

Now am I here, sayde Cloudealee, 

I would that in I were. 50 

Now fetche us meat© and drynke ynoughe, 

And let us make good chere. 

She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye, 

Lyke a true wedded wyfe ; 
And pleased hym with that she had, 55 

Whome she loved as her lyfe. 

There lay an old wyfe in that place, 

A rytie beayde the fyre, 
Whych Wyllyam had found of charytye 

More than aeven yere. 60 

Up she rose, and forth ghee goes, 

£vill mote sbee speede therfore ; 
for shee had sett no foote on ground 

In aeven yere before. 

She went unto the justice hall, 05 

As fast as she could hye : 
Thys night, shee sayd, ia come to town 

Wyllyam of Cloudealye. 

Thereof the justice was full fayne, 

And so was the shirife also : 70 

Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought, 

Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go. 

They gave to her a ryght good goune, 

Of scarlate, ' and of graine :' 
She toke the gyft, and borne she wente, 75 

And couched her doune agayne. 

They raysed the town© of mery Carleile 

In all the haste they can ; 
And came thronging to Wyllyames house, 

Aa fast as they might gone. 80 

There they besette that good yeman 

Round about on every syde : 
Wyllyam hearde great novae of folkes, 

That thither-ward fast hyed. 



T as tahs PC. tarn, MS. 



Alyce opened a backe wyndowe, 

And loked all aboute, 85 

She was ware of the justice and shiriie bothe, 

Wyth a full great route. 

Alas ! treason, cryed Alyce, 

Ever wo may thou be ! 90 

Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd, 

Swete Wyllyam of Cloudealee. 

He toke hys aweard and hya bucler, 

Hys bow and hys chyldren thre, 
And wente into hys strongest chamber, 95 

Where he thought surest to be. 

Fayre Alyce, like a lover {sue, 

Took a pollaxe in hex hande : 
Said, He shall dye that cometh ia 

Thys dore, whyle I may standi 100 

Cloudeslee bento a right good bowe, 

That was of a trusty tre, 
He smot the justice on the brest, 

That hys arowe burst in three. 



105 



' A* curse on his harte, aside William, 

Thys day thy cote dyd on ! 
If it had ben no better then myne, 

It had gone nere thy bone. 

Yelde tne Cloudesle, aayd the justiae, 
And thy bowe and thy arrowes die fro. 

• A' curse on hya hart, sayd fair Alyce, 
That my husband councelleth so. 



Set fyre on the house, aside the 
- Svth it wyll no better be. 
And brenne we therin William, he 
Hya wife and chyldren thre. 

They fyred the house in many a pit 
Tne fyre flew up on hye ; 

Alas ! then cryed ray re Alice, 
I se we here shall dye. 



110 



115 



ItO 



William openyd a backe wynddw, " 

That was in hys chamber hie, 
And there with sheetes he did let downe 

His wife and children three. 

Have you here my treasure, sayde William, lt5 

My wyfe and my chyldren thre: 
For Christes love do them no name, 

But wreke you all on me. 



Wyllyam shot so wonderotta well, 
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe, 

And the fyre so fast upon hym fell, 
That hya bowstryng brent in two. 

The sparkles brent and fell upon 
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle : 

Than was he a wofull man, and sayde, 
Thya is a cowardes death to me. 

V. 85, sic MS. tkpp window, PC. 



ISO 



135 



4* 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



Leever had I, said Wyllyam, 

With my sworde in the route to renne, 
Then here among myne enemyes wode 

Thoa cruelly to bran. 



140 



He toke hys aweard and hya buckler, 

And among them all he ran, 
Where the people were moat in preoe, . 

He amote downe many a man. 

There myght no man abyde hys stroakes, 145 

So fersly on them he ran : 
Then they threw wyndowea and dores on him, 

And ao toke that good yeman. 



There they hym bonnde both hand and fote, 
And in a deepe dungeon him cast : 

Now, Cloudeele, aayd the justice, 
Thou ahalt be hanged in hast 



150 



d thesherife. 



' A payre of new gallowea, say 

Mow ahal I for thee make ; 
And the gates of CarleQ ahal be shntte: 

No man ahal come in therat. 

Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe, 

Nor yet shall Adam Bell, 
Though they came with a thousand mo, 

Nor all the devels in helL 

Early in the mornynge the justice uprose, 

To the gates first can he gone, 
And commaunded to be shut full close 

Lightile everychone. 

Then went he to the markett place, 

As last as he coulde hye ; 
There a payre of new gauowes he set up 

Besyde the pyllorye. 

A lytle boy * among them asked/ 

What meaned that gallow-tre? 
^Hioy sayde to hange a good yeman, 

Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle. 

That Turtle hove was the towns swyne-heard, 

Ana kept fnyre Alyces swyne ; 
Oft he had aeene William in the wodde, 

And geun hym there to dyne. 

He went out att a crevis of the wall, 
And lightly to the woode dyd gone ; 

There met he with these wightye yemen 
Shortly and anone. 

Alas! then aayd the lytle boye, 

Ye tary here all too longe ; 
Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death. 

And readye for to honge. 

Alas f then aayd good Adam Bell, 

That ever we saw tbys daye ! 
He had better have tarryed with us, 

So ofte as we dyd him praye. 



155 



160 



165 



170 



175 



180 



185 



rJ!;i 5 lL -lc -. M i\' ifS Jm t2* PC— -V. 153, 4, are con- 
tracted from ibe foL MS. and PC —V. 17P. yonge men, PC. 



He myght hare dwelt in greene forests, 
Under the shadowes greene, 190 

And have kepte both hym and us att reste, 
Out of all trouble and teene. 

Adam bent a ryght good bow, 

A great hart sone hee had slayne ; 
Take that, cbylde, he sayde, to thy dynner, 195 

And bring me myne arrowe agayne. 

• Now go we hence, sayed these wightye yeomen, 

Tarrye we no longer here ; 
We shall hym borowe by God his grace, 

Though we buy itt rufi dere. 200 

To Caerleil wente these bold yemen, 

All in a mornyng of maye. 
Here is a fyt* of Cloudeslye, 

And another is for to saye. 

PART THS SECOND. 

And when they came to mery CarleUe, 

All in « the' mornyng tyde, 
They founde the gates shut diem untyll 

About on every syde. 

Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 5 

That ever we were made men ! 
These gates be shut so wonderous fast, 

We may not come therein. 

Then bespake him Clym of the Clough, 

Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng j 10 

Let us save we be messengers, 

Streyght come nowe from our king. 

Adam said, I hare a letter written, 

Now let us wysely werke, 
We wyl save we have the kynges seale j 15 

I holde the porter no clerke. 

Then Adam Bell bete on the gates 

With strokes great and stronge : 
The porter marveiled, who was therat, 

And to the gates he throwre. 20 

Who is there now, sayde the porter, 

That maketh all thys knockinge? 
We be tow messengers, quoth Clym of the Clough, 

Be come ryght from our kyng. 

We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel, 25 

To the justice we must itt bryng ; 
Let us in our messsage to do, 

That we were agayne to the kyng. 

Here commeth none in, sayd the porter, 

By hym that dyed on a tore, SO 

Tyll a raise thefe be hanged, 
Called Wyllyam of Cloudeale. 

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough, 

And swore by Mary fre, 
And if that we stsnde long wythout, 35 

Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be. 



V. 100, sic MS. ihadowet sheeae, PC— V. 107, jolly yeo- 
men, MS. wight yong men, PC. 

* Sec Glow. 



- 'I 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDKSLY. 



49 



Lo ! here we hare the kynges seale : 
What, Lurden, art thou wode ? 

The porter went* it had been so, 
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode. 

Welcome is my lordea seale, he saide ; 

For that ye shall come in. 
He opened the gate fall shortlye : 

An enyl openyng for him. 



40 



■yde Adam Bell, 
mil mine; 



Now are we in, 

Wherof we are 
Bnt Christ he knowes, that harowed hell, 

How we shall com out agayne. 



45 



63 



Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough, 
Ryght wel then shoulde we spede, 50 

Then might we come out wel ynough 
When we se tyme and nede. 

They called the porter to counsell, 

And wrang his necke in two, 
And caste hym in a depe dungeon, 55 

And toke hys keys hym fro. 

Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel, 

Se brother the keys are here, 
The worst porter to merry Carleile 

That ' the' had thys hundred yere. 60 

And now wyll we our bowes bend, 

Into the towne wyll we go, 
For to delyuer our aere brother, 

That lyeth in care and wo. 

Then they bent theyr pood ewe bowes, 
And talced theyr stnnges were round t, 

The markett place in mery Carleile 
They beset that stound. 

And, as they loked them besyde, 

A paire of new jralowes ' they' see, 
And the justice with a quest of squyers, 

That judged William hanged to be. 

And Cloudesle lay ready there in a cart, 

Fast bound bow fote and hand ; 
And a stronge rop about hys necke, 75 

All readye for to hange. 

The justice called to hym a ladde, 
Cloudeslees clothes nee shold have, 

To take the measure of that yeman, 

Therafter to make hys grave. 80 

I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle, 

As betweyne thys and pryme, 
He that maketh a grave for mee, 

Hymselfe may lye therm. 



Y. Lordeyne, PC. 

• I. e. weened, thought, (which last It the reading of the 
fulio MS.)— Calab, or Rouen, was taken from the English 
by showing the governor, who could not read, a letter with 
the king's teal, which was all he looked at. 

t So Ascharo In his Toxophilua gives a precept ; H '/be 
stringe must be roande ;" (p. 149, ed. 1761.) otherwise, we 
may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will not 
fly tiue. 



70 



Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice, 85 

I will thee bange with my hanae. 
Full wel herd this his brethren two, 

There styll as they dyd stande. 

Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde, 

And saw hys ' brethren twaine 90 

At a corner of the market place, 

Redy the justice for to slaine. 

I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle, 

Yet hope I well to fare, 
If I might have my handes at wyll 95 

Ryght lytle wofde I care, 

Then spake good Adam Bell 

To Clym of the Clough so free, 
Brother, se you marke the justyce wel , 

Lo ! yonder you may him se : 100 

And at the shyrife shote I wyll 

Strongly wyth an arrowe kene ; 
A better shote in mery Carleile 

Thys seven yere was not sene. 

They loosed their arrowes both at once, 105 

Of no man had they dread ; 
The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, 

That both theyr sides gan blede. 

All men voyded ; that them stode nye, 

When the justice fell to the grounde, 110 

And the shenfe nye him by ; 
Eyther had his deathes wounde 

AH the citesens fast gan flye, 

They durst no longer abyde ; 
There lyghtly they losed Qoudeslee, 115 

Where he with ropes lay tyde. 

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne 
Hys axe ' from* hys hand he wrong* 

On eche syde he smote them downe, 
Hee thought he taryed to long. lfO 

Wyllyam sayde to his brethren two, 

Thys daye let us lyre and die, 
If ever you have nede, as I have now, 

The same shall you finde by me. 

They shot so well in that tyde, 1*5 

Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure, 

That they kept the stretes on every side ; 
That batayle did long endure* 

They fought together as brethren true, 
Lyke hardy men and bolde, 150 

Many a man to the ground they threw 
And many a herte made colae. 



But when their arrowes were all gon, 
Men pieced to them full fast, 

They drew theyr swordes then anone, 
And theyr bowes from them cast. 

They went lyghtlye on theyr way, 
Wyth swordes and buclers round ; 

By that it was mydd of the day, 
Tbey made many a wound. 



155 



140 



V. 105,lowted tare, PC— Ver 103. can bled. M8. 






*» 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



I! 



There was an out-horne* in Carleil blowen, 
And the belles backward dyd ryng, 

Many a woman sayde, Alas ! 

And many theyr handes dyd wryng. 

The mayre of Carleile forth com was, 145 

Wyth hym a ful great route : 
These yemen dred hym full sore, 

Of theyr lyres they stode in great doute. 

The mayre came armed a full gnat pane, 

With a pollaxe in hys haode ; 150 

Many a strong man wyth him was, 
There in that stowre to stande. 

The mayre smot at Ckradeslee with his bil, 

Hys bucler he brast in two, 
Full many a yeman with great evyll, 155 

Alas ! Treason they eryed for wo. 
Kepe well the gates test, they bad, 

•ft* the*, ttytoui. tfcooot not go. 

But al for nought was that they wrought, 

For so fast they downe were layde, 160 

Tyll they all thre, that so manfulU fought, 
Were gotten without, abraide. 

Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel, 

Myne office I here forsake, 
And yf you do by my counsel! 165 

A new porter do ye make. 

He threw theyr keys at theyr heads, 

And bad them well to thryref, 
And all that letteth any good yeman 

To come and comfort his wyfe. 170 

Thus be these good yeman gon to the wod, 

As lyghtly as lefe on lynde ; 
The lough and be mery in theyr mode, 

Theyr enemyes were ferr bebynd* 

When they came to Englyshe wode, 175 

Under the trusty tre, 
There they found bowes full good, 

And arrowes full great plentye. 

So God me help, sayd Adam Bell, 

And Clym of the Clough so fre, 180 

I would we were in mery Carleile, 

Before that fayre meynye. 

They set them downe, and made good ehere, 

And eate and dranke full welL 
A second fyt of the wightye yeomen : 185 

Another I wyll you telL 



PART THB THIRD. 

As they sat in Englyshe wood, 

Under the green-wode tre, 
They thought they herd a woman wepe, 

But her they mought not se. 



V. 148, For of, M8 —V. 175, merry green wood, MS.— 
V. 1S5. see part I. v. 197. 

* Outhorae Is an old term signifying the calling forth of 
subjects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's L*U 
Diet. Bailey, &c. 

t This is spoken Ironically. 



Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce . h 

* That ever I sawe thys day ! ' 
For nowe is my dere husband slayne . 

Alas ! and wel-a-way 1 

Myght I hare spoken wyth hys dere brethren, 
Or with eyther of them twayne, 10 

To show them what him befeu, 
My hart were out of payne. 

Cloudesle* walked a lytle beside, 
He looked under tnegrene wood lynde, 

He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three, 15 
Full wo in harte and mynde. 

Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam, 

Under* this' trusti tre: 
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John. 

Thou sholaest me never ' hare ' se. SC 

" Now well is me that ye be here. 

My harte is out of wo. H 
Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad, 

And thanke my brethren two. 

Herof to speake, said Adam Bell, f5 

I-wis it is no bote : 
The meate, that we must supp withall, 

It runneth yet feat on fote. 

Then went they downe into a launde, 

These noble srehares all thre ; 30 

Eche of them slew a hart of greeoe, 
The best that they coldse. 

Hare here the best, Alyce, my wyfe, 

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudealye ; 
By cause ve so bouldly stode by me 55 

When I was slayne full nye. 

Then went they to suppere 

Wyth suche meate as they had ; 
And thanked God of ther fortune : 

They were both mery and glad. 40 

And when they had supped well, 

Certayne withouten lease, 
Cloudesle sayd, We wyll to our kyng, 

To get us a charter of peace. 

Alyce shal be at our sojournyng 45 

In a nunnery here besyde ; 
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go. 

And there they shall abyde. 

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me ; 

For hym have ' you' no care : 
And he shall bring you worde agayn, 

How that we do are. 

Thus be these yemen to London gone, 

As fast as they myght ' he'*, 
Tyll they came to the kynges pallaee, 55 

Where they woulde nedes be. 

And whan they came to the kynges court* 

Unto the pallaee gate, 
Of no man wold they aske no leave, 

But boldly went in therat 60 

V. 20, never hadse, PC. and MS.— V. SO, have I nocare,PC. 

• i. * hie hantcn. 



50 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



4j 



They preced prestly into the hall, 

Of no man had they dreade : 
The porter came after, and dyd them call, 

And with them began to chyde. 

The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye hare 1 65 

I pray you tell to me : 
You myght thus make offycers shent* 

Good syra, of whence be ye! 



r 






Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest 

Certayne withouten lease ; ' 70 

And hetner we be come to the kyng, 

To get us a charter of peace. 

And whan they came before the kyng, 

As it was the lawe of the lande, 
The kneled downe without lettyng, 75 

And echo held up his hand. 

The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here, 

That ye wyll graunt us grace ; 
For we hare slayne your fat falow dere 

In many a sondry place. 80 

What be your name, then said our king, 

Anone that you tell me? 
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudesle 

Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, 85 

That men hare tolde of to me ? 
Here to God I make an avowe, 

Ye shal be hanged al thre. 

Ye shal be dead without mercy, 

As I am kynge of this lande. 90 

He commanded his officers everiehone, 

Fast on them to lay hande. 

There they toke these good yemen, 

And arested them al thre : 
So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell, 90 

Thys game lyketh not me. 

But, good lorde, we beseche you now, 

That yee graunt us grace, 
Insomuche as ' frely ' we be to you come, 

1 As frely ' we may fro you passe, 100 

With such weapons, as we hare here, 

Tyll we be out of your place ; 
And yf we lyre this nundreth yere, 

We wyll aske you no grace. 

Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge ; 105 

\ e shall be banged all thre. 
That were great pitye, then sayd the quene, 

If any grace myght be. 

My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande 
To be your wedded wyfe, HO 

The fyr*t boone that I wold aske, 
Ye would graunt it me belyfe : 

And I asked you never none tyll now ; 

Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me. 
Now aske it, madam, savd the kynge, 1 15 

And graunted it shal be. 



V. Ill, HP, it* MS. bowM. Pu. 



Then, good my lord, I you beseche, 

These ^emen graunt ye me. 
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone. 

That shuld have been worth them all thre. 120 

Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, 

Parkes and forestes plente. 
None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ; 

Nor none so lefe to me. 

Madame, sith it is your desyre, 125 

Your askyng graunted shal be ; 
But I had lever have given you 

Good market townes thre. 

The quene was a glad won. an, 

And sayde, lx>rd, gnunarcy ; 130 

I dare undertake for them, 

That true men shal they be. 

But, good my lord, speke som mery word, 

That comfort they may se. 
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king ; 135 

Washe, felos, and to meate go ye. 

They had not setten but a whyle 

Certayne without lesynge. 
There came messengers out of the north 

With letters to our kyng. 140 

And whan the came before the kynge, 

They knelt downe on theyr kne ; 
And flsyd, Lord,, your officers grete you well, 

Of Carleile in the north cuntre. 

How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 145 

And my sherife also ? 
Syr, they be slayne without leasynge, 

And many an officer mo. 

Who hath them slayne T sayd the kyng ; 

Anone that thou tell me. 156 

" Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudeale." 

Alas, for rewth ! then sayd our kynge : 

My hart is wonderous sore ; 
I had lever than a thousands pounde, 155 

I had knowne of thys before ; 

For I have graunted them grace, 

And that forthynketh me : 
But had I knowne all thys before, 

They had been hanged all thre. 160 

The kyng hee opened the letter anone, 

Iiimselfe he red it thro, 
And founde how these outlawes had «l«i 

Thre hundred men and mo : 

Fyrst the justice, and the aheryfe, 165 

And the mayre of Carleile towne ; 
Of all the constables and catchipoUea 

Alyve were ' scant' left one : 

The baylyes, and the bedyls both, 

And the sergeauntes of the law, 170 

And forty fosters of the fe, 

These outlawes had yslaw : 



V. 130, God a merryc, MS — V. 106, left bat 
not one. 1 C. 



oae, MS. 






46 



ADAM BELL, CLYA1 OF THE CLOUGH, 



And broke his perks, and slayne his dere ; 

Of ell they chose he best ; 
80 perelous out-lawes, as they were, 175 

Walked not by easte nor west. 

When the kynge this letter had red. 

In hys harte he syghed sore : 
Take up the tables anone he bad, 

For I may eat no more. 180 

The kyng called hys best arehars 

To the buttes wyth hym to go : 
I wyll se these felowes sbote, he sayd, 

In the north have wrought this wo. 

The kynges bowmen buske them blyve, 185 

And the queues archers also ; 
80 dyd these thre wygbte yemen ; 

With them they tnbught to go. 

There twyse, or thryse they shote about 

For to assay theyr hande ; 190 

There was no shote these yemen shot, 
That any prycke* myght stand. 

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle ; 

By him that for me dyed, 
I hold hymn never no good archar, 195 

That shoteth at buttes so wyde. 

' At what a butte now wold ye shote V 

I pray thee tell to me. 
At suche a but, syr, he sayd, 

As men use in my countree. 900 

Wyllyam wente into a fyeld, 

And 'with him' his two brethren : 
There they set up two hasell roddes 

Twenty score paces betwene. 

I hold him an archar, said Cloudesle*, 205 

That yonder wande cleveth in two. 

Here is none suche, sayd the kyng, 
Nor no man can so do. 

I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudesle, 

Or that I farther go. 210 

Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe 

Clave the wand in two. 

Thou art the best archer, then said the king, 

Forsothe that ever I se. 
And yet for your lore, sayd Wyllyam, 215 

I wyll do more maystery. 

I have a sonne is seven yere olde, 

He is to me full deare ; 
I wyll hym tye to a stake ; 

All shall se, that be here ; 220 

And lay an apple npon hys head, 

And go syxe score paces hym fro, 
And I my selfe with a brode arow 

Shall cleve the apple in two. 

Ver. 185, My the, MS.— Ver. SOS, SOS, SIS, to PC— Ver. 
S04, L e. 400 jarda.— Ver. SOS, ale MS. none that can, PC. 
Ver. SSS. i. e. ISO yards, 

• i. e. mark. 



Now haste the, then sayd the kyng, 
By hym that dyed on a tre, 

But yf thou do not, as thou best sayde, 
Hanged shalt thou be. 



— if 
22.S ,j 



And thou touche his head or gowne, 1 

In syeht that men may se, 230 I • 

By all the sayntes that be in heaven, | ' 

I shall hange you all thre. 1 

That I have promised, said William, 

That I wyll never forsake. ' | 

And there even before the kynge 235 , 

In the earth he drove a stake : 

1 
And bound therto his eldest sonne, ! I 

And bad hym stand styll thereat ; 
And turned the childes face him fro, 

Because he should not start. 2-JO 

An apple upon his head he set, 

And then his bowe he bent : 
Syxe score paces they were meaten, 

And thether Cloudesle went. 

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, 24.S 

Hys bowe was great and longe, 
He set that arrowe in his bowe, 

That was both styffe and stronge. 

Heprayed the people, that wer there, 

That they ' all still wold* stand, 250 

For he that shoteth for such a wager 
Behoveth a stedfast hand. 

Muche people prayed for Cloudesle, 

That his lyfe saved myght be, 
And whan he made hym redy to shote, 25:> 

There was many weeping ee. 

' But' Cloudesle* clefte the apple in two, 

' His sonne he did not nee.' 
Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge, 

That thou ahold shote at me. 260 

I geve thee eigbtene pence a day, 

And my bowe shalt thou bere, 
And over all the north countre 

I make the chyfe rydere. 

And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene, 265 

By God, and by my fay ; 
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, 

No man shall say the nay. 

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman 

Ofclothyng, and of fe : 27 

And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre, 

For they are so semely to se. 

Your sonne, for he is tend re of age, 

Of my wyne-seller he shall he ; 
And when he commeth to mans estate, 275 

Better avaunced shall he be. 



Ver. S43, ilo. M8. oat met. PC— Ver. 23*, steed>e, MS 
Yer. S05, And I geve the xvty pence, PC. 



THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCE!'!! LOVE. 



And, Wyllynm, bring me your wife, said the queue, 

Me longeth her sore to se : 
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, 

To governe my nurserye. t80 

The yemen thanked them all curteously. 

To some byshop wyl we wend, 
Of all the synnes, that we have done, 

To be assovld at his hand. 



So forth be gone these good yemen, 

As fast as they might * he*' ; 
And after came and dwelled with the kynge. 

And dyed good men all thre. 

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen ; 

God send them eternall blysse ; 
And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth : 

That of heven may never mysse. Amen. 



49 



w 



190 



II. 



THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE. 



The grave-digger's song in Hamlet, act v. is talren 
from three stanzas of the following poem, though 
greatly altered and disguised, as the same were cor- 
rupted by the ballad-sifigers of Shakespeare's time : 
or perhaps so designed by the poet himself, the bet- 
ter to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The 
original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, and is 
attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gascoigne, who 
tells us, it " was thought by some to be made upon 
his death-bed j" a popular error which he laughs at. 
(See his Enist. to Yong Gent, prefixed to his Posies, 
1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux in a 
manuscript copy preserved in the British Museum*. 
This lord was remarkable for his skill in drawing 
feigned manners, &c. for so I understand an ancient 
writer. ^ " The Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth 
chiefly in the facilitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse 
of his descriptions such as he taketh upon him to 
make, namely in sundry of his songs, wherein he 
showeth the jcounterfait actum very lively and plea- 
santly." Arte of Eng. Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See 
another song by this poet in Series the Second, 
No. VIII. 

I loth that I did love, 

In youth that I thought swete, 
As time requires : for my behove 

Me thinkes they are not mete. 

My lustes they do me leave, 5 

My fansies all are fled ; 
And tract of time begins to weave 

Gray hearas upon my hed. 

For Age with steling steps 

Hath clawde me with nis crowch, 
And lusty • Youthe' awaye he leapes, 

A 8 there had bene none such. 

My muse doth not delight 

Me, as she did before : 
My hand and pen are not in plight, 

As they have bene of yore. 

For Reason me denies, 

'AU'youthly idle rime; 
And day bv day, to me she cries, 

Leave off these toyes in tyme. 



10 



15 



90 



• Hjit MSB. nam. I70J. $ M. The radian nthcred 



The wrinkles in my brow, 

The furrowes in my face 
Say, Limping age will ' lodge' him now, 

Where youth must geve him place. 

The harbenger of death. 

To me I se him ride, 
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath, 

Doth bid me to provide 

A pikeax and a spade, 
And eke a shrowding shete, 

A house of clay for to be made 
For such a guest most mete. 

Me thinkes I heare the clarke, 
That knoles the carefuU knell ; 

And bids me leave my ' wearye' warke, 
Ere nature me compelL 

My kepersf knit the knot, 

That youth doth laugh to scorne, 

Of me that • shall bee oleane' forgot, 
As I had • ne'er' bene borne. 

Thus must I youth geve up, 
Whose badge I long did weare : 

To them I veld the wanton cup, 
That better may it beare. 

Lo here the bared skull; 

By whose balde signe I know, 
That stooping age away shall pull 

' What' youthful yerea did sow. 

For Beautie with her band, 
These croked cares had wrought, 

And shipped me into the land, 
From whence I first was brought. 

And ye that bide behinde, 

Hav9ye none other trust : 
As ye of chve were cast by kinds, 

So shall ye ' turne' to dust. 



*5 



SO 



55 



40 



45 



50 



55 



i ; 'LP* %>%*' IM ? J '"■Wit InKd. 14ST. hath caoght 

L 85 '* «2P- p C-r-V. «» did PC—V. », cteae »hd I be. 
BiT y v 4 l , 5nS C L^J.' 4». Iwe-hedde. MS. a»diom«' 

* be t. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary 

♦ Alluding perhaps to Ecdes.xij. 3. 



A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYM. 



III. 
JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL. 



In Shakespeare's Hamlet, act ii. the hero of the 
play take* occasion to banter Polon ins with some 
scraps of an old ballad, which has never appeared 
yet in any collection : for which reason, as it is bat 
short, it will not perhaps be unacceptable to the 
reader ; who will also be diverted witn the pleasant 
absurdities of the composition. It was retrieved 
from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote it down 
from memory, as she had formerly heard it sung by 
her father. I am indebted for it to the friendship of 
Mr. Steevens. 

It baa been said, that the original ballad, in black- 
letter, is among Anthony * Wood's Collections in 
the Ashmolean Museum. But, upon application 
lately made, the volume which contained this song 
was missing, so that it can only now be given as in 
the former edition. 

The banter of Hamlet is as follows : 



t« 



Hamlet. * O Jeptha, Judge of Israel/ what a 
treasure hadst thou ! 

" Poioniut. What a treasure had he, my lord 1 

" Ham. Why, ' One faire daughter, and no more, 
The which he loved passing well.' 

" Polon. Still on my daughter. 

" Ham. Am not 1 1' th' right, old Jeptha? 

" Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, I have a 
daughter, that I love passing well. 

" Ham. Nay, that follows not 

" Polon. What follows then, my lord ? 

" Ham. Why, ' As by lot, God wot :' and then yon 
know, * It came to passe, As most like it was.' The 
first row of the pious chanson will shew you more." 

Edit. 1793, voLxv. p. 133. 

Have you not heard these many years ago, 

Jeptha was judge of Israel ? 
He had one only daughter and no mo, 
The which he loved passing well: 

And, as by lott, 5 

God wot, 
It so came to pass, 
As Gods will was, 
That great wars there should be, 
And none should be chosen chief but he. 



10 



And when he was appointed judge*. 
And chieftain of the company, ) 
A solemn vow to God he made' j J 
" If he returned with victory, / 



At his return 
To burn 
The first live thing, 



) 



15 



That should meet with him then, 

Off his house, when he should return agen. 

It came to pass, the wars was oer, 

And he returned with victory ; 
His dear and only daughter first of all 
Came to meet her father foremostly : 
And all the way, 
She did play 
On tabret and pipe, 
Full many a stripe, 
With note so high, 
For joy that her father is come so nigh. 

But when he saw his daughter dear 

Coming on most foremostly, 
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair. 
And cryed out most piteously ; 
Oh ! it's thou, said he, 
That have brought me 
Low, 
And troubled me so, 
That I know not what to do. 

For I have made a vow, he sed. 

The which must be replenished : 

• • • • 

" What thou hast spot 
Do not revoke : 
What thou hast said, 
Be not airraid ; 
Altho' it be I ; 
Keep promises to God on high. 

But, dear father, grant me one request, 

That I may go to the wilderness, 
Three months there with my friends to stay ; 
There to bewail my virginity ; 
And let there be, 
Said she, 
Some two or three 
Young maid* with me." 
So he sent her away, 
Fcr to mourn, for to mourn, till her djing day, 



90 



25 



30 



35 



40 




45 



60 



i. 



r 



IV. 
A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN, 



•I 



W 



In his "Twelfth Night," Shakespeare introduces 
the clown singing part of the two first stansas of the 
following song ; which has been recovered from an 
ancient MS. of Dr. Harrington's at Hatb, preserved 
among the many literary treasures transmitted to (he 



ingenious and worthy possessor by a long line of 
most respectable ancestors. Of these only a small 
pai t hath been printed in the " Nug« Antique," 
3 vols, llmo; a work which the public impatiently 
wishes to see continued. 



A BONO TO THE LUTE IN MU8ICKE. 



49 



The song is thus given by Shakespeare, act iv. sc. 
f. (Malone's edit. iv. 93.) 

Clown. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin." [singing.] * 

" Tell me how thy lady does. 
MalcoUo. Fool. 
Clown. " My lady is unkind, perdy." 

MalcoUo. FooL 

Clown. " Alas, why is she so t" 

Malvotio. Fool, I say. 

Clown. " She loves another."— Who calls, ha? 

Dr. Fanner has conjectured that the song should 
b* gin thus : 

" Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me 

How does thy lady do 1 
My lady is unkind perdy— 

Alas, why is she sol 

But this ingenious emendation is now superseded by 
the proper readings of the old son? itself, which is 
here printed from what appears the most ancient 
of Dr. Harringlon's poetical MS3, and which has, 
therefore, been marked No. I. (scil. p. 68.) That 
volume seems to have been written in the reign of 
King Henry VIII, and as it contains many of the 
poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had almost all the 
contents attributed to him by marginal directions 
written with an old but later hand, and not always 
rightly, as, I think, might be made appear by other 
good authorities. Among the rest, this song is there 
attributed to Sir Thomas Wyat also; but the dis- 
cerning reader will probably judge it to belong to a 
more obsolete writer. 

In the old MS. to the Sd and 5th stanzas is pre- 
fixed this title, Responce, and to the 4th and 6th, 
Le Plaintif; but in the last instance so evidently 
wrong, that it was thought better to omit these titles. 



and to mark the changes of the dialogue by inverted 
commas. In other respects the MS. is strictly fol- 
lowed, except where noted in the margin — Yet the 
first stanza appears to be defective, and it should 
seem that a line is wanting, unless the four first 
words were lengthened in the tune. 

A Robyk, 

Jolly Robyn, 
Tell me how thy leman doeth, 

And thou shalt knowe of myn. 



" My lady is unkyinde perde." 

Alack ! why is she sol 
" She loveth an other better than me : 

And yet she will say no." 

I fynde no such doublenes : 

I fynde women true. 
My lady loveth me dowtles, 

And will change for no newe. 

" Thou art happy while that doeth last j 

But I say, as I fynde, 
That women's love is but a blast, 

And torneth with the wynde," 

Suche folkes can take no harm© by tare, 

That can abide their torn. 
" But I alas can no way prove 

In love but lake and morn." 

But if thou wilt avoyde thy hanne 

Lerne this lessen of me, 
At others fieres thy selfe to> warme, 

And let them warme with the . 



5 



10 



15 



to 



V. 



A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE. 



Tnis sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Ed- 
wards* in the " Paradise of Daintie Devises," fo. 
31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some 
pleasant ridicule in his " Romeo and Juliet", act iv. 
sc. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question 
to the musicians. 



«« 



Peter. . . • why * Silver Sound 1 ' why ' Musicke 
with her silver sound' 1 what say you, Simon 
Catling t 

'* 1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 

" Pet. Pretty ! what say you, Hugh Rebecke T 
" t. Mus. I say, silver sound, because musicians 
sound for silver. 

" PeU Pretty too ! what say you, James Sound- 
post 1 

" 3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say, 
" Pet.. . . .1 will say it for you : It is * musicke 
with her silver sound/ because musicians have no 
gold for sounding." 

Edit. 179S, vol. xiv. p. 529. 



* Concerning him, sec Wood's A then. Oxon. and Tanner's 
BlWiotb. ; also Sir John Hawkins** Hist, of Mafic, &c 



This ridicule is not so much levelled at the song 
itself (which for the time it was written is not inele- 
gant) as at those forced and unnatural explanations 
often given by us painful editors and expositors of 
ancient authors. 

This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the 
Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), entitled, " Divers 
things of Hen. viij's time:" with some corrections 
from The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596. 

Whebe gripinge grefes the hart would wounde, 
And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse, 

There musicke with her silver sound 
With spede is wont to send redresse : 

Of trobled mynds, in every sore, 5 

Swete musicke hatha a salve in store* 

In joye yt males our mirthe abounde, 
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites ; 

Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde, 
By musickes pleasaunte swete delightes : 

Our senses all, what shall I say more 1 
Are subjecte unto musicks lore. 



Ver. 4, shall, MS. 




The Gods by musicke hare theire prayse ; 

The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye ; 
For, as the Romayne poet saves, 

In seas, whom pyrats would destroy, 
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe 
Arion playing on his harpe. 



15 



O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd, 

Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe ! 20 

O musicke, whom the Gods assinde 

To comfort© manne, whom cares would nippe ! 

Since thow both man and best© doest move, 

What beste ys he, wyll the disprove 1 



■ I 



VI. 



KING COPIIETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID, 



! 



— i~ a. story often alluded to by our old dramatic 
writers. Shakespeare, in his Romeo and Juliet, act 
ii, sc. 1, makes Mercutio say, 

" Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir, 
Young Adam* Cupid, he that shot so true. 
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid." 

As the 13th line of the following ballad seems 
here particularly alluded to, it is not improbable that 
Shakespeare wrote it "shot so trim,"which the players 
or printers, not perceiving the allusion, might alter 
to " true." The former, as being the more humorous 
expression, seems most likely to have come from the 
mouth of Mercutio f. 

In the 2d part of Hen. IV. act v, sc. 3, Falstaff is 
introduced effectedly saying to Pistoll, 

" O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof." 

These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken from 
an old bombast play of " King Cophetua. No such 
play is, I believe, now to be found ; but it does not 
therefore follow that it never existed. Many dra- 
matic pieces are referred to by old writers J, which 
are not now extant, or even mentioned in any list. 
In the infancy of the stage, plays were often ex- 
hibited that were never printed 

It is probably in allusion to the same play that 
Den Jonson says, in his Comedy of " Every Man in 
his Humour," act iii. sc. 4, 

" I have not the heart to devour thee, an' I might 
be made as rich as King Cophetua." 
At least there is no mention of King Cophetua's 
riches in the present ballad, which is the oldest I 
have met with on the subject. 

It is printed from Rich. Johnson's " Crown 
Garland of Goulden Roses," 1613, 12mo. (where it 
is entitled simply " A Song of a Beggar and a 
King:) corrected by another copy. 

I read that once in Affrica 

A princely wight did raine, 
Who had to name Cophetua, 

As poets they did fame : 
From natures lawes he did decline, 5 

For sure he was not of my mind, 
He cared not for women-nnde, 

But did them all disdaine. 

• Se« above, Preface to Song i. Book II. of this vol p. 
158. 

t Since this conjeetnre first occurred, It has been disco- 
vered that " shot so trim" was the genuine reading. See Shake- 
speare ed. 1703, xiv. 393. 

X See Meres Wits Treat, f. 283. Arte of Eng. Poes. 
15*9, p. 51, 111,143. 100. 



30 



But, marke, what hapned on a day, 
As he out of his window lay, 10 

He saw a beggar all in gray* 
The which did cause nis paint). 

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim. 

From heaven downe did hie ; 
He drew a dart and shot at him, 15 

In place where he did lye : 
Whicn soone did pierse him to the quicke, 
And when he felt the arrow pricke, 
Which in his tender heart did sticks 

He looketh as he would dye. 20 

What sudden chance is this, quoth ba\ 
That I to love must subject be, 
Which never thereto would agree, 

But still did it defiel 

Then from the window he did come, 25 

And laid him on his bed, 
A thousand heapes of care did runne 

Within his troubled head : 
For now he meanes to crave her love, 
And now he seekes which way to proove 
How he his fancie might remoove, 

And not this beggar wed. 
But Cupid had him so in snare. 
That this poor beggar must prepare 
A salve to cure him of his care, 35 

Or els he would be dead. 



And, as he musing thus did lye, 

He thought for to devise 
How he might have her companye, 

That so did 'maze his eyes. 40 

In thee, quoth he, doth rest mv life ; 
For surely thou shalt be my wife, 
Or else this hand with bloody knife 

The Gods shall sure suffice. 
Then from his bed he soon arose, 45 

And to his pallace gate he goes ; 
Full little then this begger knowes 

When she the king espies. 

The God) preserve your majesty, 

The beggers all gan cry : 50 

Vouchsafe to give your charity 

Our childrens food to buy. 
The king to them his pursse did cast, 
And they to part it made great haste § 
This Hilly woman was the last $£ 

That after them did hye. 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 



61 



The king ho cafd her back againe, 
And unto her he gave his chaine ; 
And said, With us you shal remain e 
Till such time as we dye : 

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, 

And honoured for mv queene ; 
With thee I meane to feaa my life, 

As shortly shall be seene : 
Our wedding shall appointed be, 
And every thing in its degree : 
Come on, quoth he, and follow me, 

Thou shalt go shift thee cleane. 
What is thy name, faire maid ? quoth he. 
Penelophon*, O king, quoth she : 
With tnat she made a lowe courtsey ; 

A trim one as I weene. 

Thus hand in hand along they walke 

Unto the king's palluce : 
The king with courteous comly talke 

This begger doth imbrace : 
The begger blusheth scarlet red, 
And straight againe as pale as lead, 
But not a word at all she said, 

She was in such amaze. 
At las( 8ne »P*ke with trembling voyce, 
And said, O icing, I doe rejoyce 
That you wil take me for your choyce, 

And my degree's so base. 

And when the wedding day was come, 

The king commanded strait 
The noblemen both all and some 

Upon the queene to wait. 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



And she behaved herself that day, 
As if she had never walkt the way : 
She had forgot her gown of gray, 

Which she did weare of late. 
The proverbe old is come to passe, 
The priest, when he begins his masse, 
Forgets that ever clerke he was \ 

He knowth not his estate. 

Here you may read, Copfcetua, 

Though long time fancie-fed, 
Compelled by the blinded boy 

The begger for to wed : 
He that did lovers lookes disdaine, 
To do the same was glad and faine, 
Or else he would himselfe have slaine ; 

In stone, as we read. 
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere, 
But pitty now thy servant heere. 
Least that it hap to thee this yeare, 

As to that king it did. 

And thus they led a quiet life 

During their princely raigne; 
And in a tombe were buried both, 

As writers sheweth plaine. 
The lords they tooke it grievously, 
The ladies tooke it heavily, 
The commons cryed pitiously, 

Their death to them was peine, 
Their fame did sound so passingly 
That it did pierce the starry sky, 
And throughout all the world aid fiye 

To every princes realme*. 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



120 



VII 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 



—is supposed to have been originally a Scotch bal- 
lad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the 
English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d) 
never before printed. This curiosity is preserved 
in the Editor's folio MS. but not without corruptions, 
which are here removed by the assistance of the 
Scottish Edit. Shakespeare, in his Othello, act ii. 
bas quoted one stanza, with some variations, which 
are here adopted: the old MS. readings of that 
stanza are however given in the margin. 

This winters weather itt waxeth cold, 

And frost doth freese on every hill, 
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, 

That all our cattell are like to spill ; 
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife, 5 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, 

Man, put thine old cloake about thee. 

* Shakespeare (who alludes to thU ballad In his " Love's 
Labour lost/' act iv. sc 1.) gives the Beggar's name Zenelo- 
phan, according to all the old editions : bat this seems to be 
a corruption ; for Penelophon, in the text, sounds more like 
the name of a woman.— The story of the King and the 
Beggar is also alluded to In K. Rich. II. act v. sc. 3 



He. 

* 

Bell, why dost thou flvte ' and scornef 
Thoukenst my cloak is very thin: 10 

Itt is soe bare and overworne 

A cricke he theron cannot renn : 
Then lie no longer borrowe nor lend, 

' For once He new appareld bee, 
To-morrow Be to towne and spend, 15 

For lie have a new cloake about mee. 

She. 

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, 
Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle 

Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow, 
And other things shee will not fayle ; f f 

1 wold be loth to see her pine, 

Good husband, councell take of mee, 
It is not for us to go soe fine, 
Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 



), I. e. tramped the streets.— V. 10S, Here the Poet 
tes himself to his mistress.— V. 119, Sheweth was 



V. 00, 
addresses 
ancivntly the plor. numb. 

* An ingenious friend thinks the two last Kansas should 
change place. 



. 



at 



WILLOW WILLOW, WILLOW 



He. 

My cloake it was a very good cloake £5 

Itt hath been alwayes true to the wcare. 
But now it is not worth a groat ; 

I have had it four and forty yeere : 
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine, 

Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see, SO 
It will neither hold out winde nor raine a 

And lie have a new cloake about meel] 

Shb. 

It is four and fortye yeeres agoe 

Since the one of us the other did ken, 
And we have had betwixt us towe 35 

Of children either nine or ton j 
Wee have brought them up to women and men ; 

In the feare of God I trow they bee j 
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken 1 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee* 40 

He. 

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou ' floute 1 ' 

Now is nowe, and then was then : 
( ->eke now all the world throughout, 

Thou kenat not clownes from gentlemen. 



They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or ' gray* 
Roe far above their owne degree : 46 

Once in my life He ' doe as they/ 
For He nave a new cloake about mee. 

8he. 

King Stephen was a worthy pesre, 

His breeches cost him but a crowne, .SO 

He held them sixpence all too ieere ; 

Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne. 
He was a wight of high renowne. 

And thouse but of a low degree : * 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 

He. 

* Bell my wife she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft, to live a quiet life, 

I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man ;' 60 
Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, 

Unlesse he first gave oer the plea : 
As wee began wee now will leave, 

And He take mine old cloake about mee. 



VIII. 



WILLOW, WILLOW WILLOW. 



It is from the following stanzas that Shakes- 
peare has taken his song of the " Willow/' in his 
Othello, act iv. so. 3, though somewhat varied and 
applied by him to a female character. He makes 
Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting 



manner: 

" My mother had a maid calTd Barbara : 
She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad, 
And did forsake her. She had a song of — Willow. 
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it" 

Ed. 1793, vol. zv. p. 613. 

This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection, thus entitled, "A Lover's Complaint, 
being forsaken of his Love." To a pleasant tune. 

A poors aoule sat sighing under a sicamore tree ; 

O willow, willow, willow ! 
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee : 

O willow, willow, willow ! 

O willow, willow, willow ! 5 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone, 

Come willow, &c. 
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone ; 

O willow, flee. 
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 

My love she is turned ; untrue she doth prove : 

O willow, flee 
She renders me nothing but hate for my love. 

O willow, flee. 
Sing, O the greene willow, flee 



10 



15 



V. 41, flyte, MS. 



O nitty me, (cried he,) ye lovers, each one ; 

O willow, flee. 
Her heart's bard as marble ; she rues not my mone. 
^ O willow, flee, jeo 

Sing, O the greene willow, flee. 

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace ; 

O willow, flee. 
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face : 

O willow, flee. jf5 

Sing, O the greene willow, fleo. 

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones * 
O willow, flee [stones. 

The salt tears fell from him, which softened the 
O willow, flee 30 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! 

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove ; 

O willow, flee. 
She was borne to be faire ; I, to die for her love. 

O w llow, flee. 35 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland* 

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! 

Sing willow, &c. 
My true love rejecting without all regard. 

"0 willow, flee. 40 

Sing, O the greene willow, flee. 

Let love no more boast him in palace or bower , 

O willow, flee. 
For women are trothles, and note in an houre. 

O willow, flee. 
Sing, O the greene willow, Ace 45 



V. 40, King Harry. .a ▼ery good king, MS. V. M, I 
trow his hose cost hot, MS. V. 61, He lhou K ht them 12d to 
ricere, MS. V. 5*, c lowne, MS. V. 63, He was kin* aaJ 
wore the crowne, MS. 



SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



53 



t 



• i 



!. 



Bat what helps complaining 1 In vaine I complaine: 

O willow, «c 
I must patiently suffer her seorne and disdaine, 

O willow, &c 50 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, 

O willow, &c [she. 

He that 'plaines of his false lore, mine's falser than 
O willow, &c 55 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c 

The willow wreath weare I, since my lore did fleet ; 

O willow, &c. 
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete* 

O willow, &c 60 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland ! 

PABT THE SECOND. 

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine ; 

O willow, willow, willow ! 
Against her to cruell, still still I complaine, 

O willow, willow, willow ! 

O willow, willow, willow ! 5 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland ! 

O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart ! 

O willow, &c. 
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart * 

O willow, &c 10 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

O willow, willow, willow ! the willow garland, 

O willow 1 , &c. 
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand : 

O willow, etc 15 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, 

O willow, &c 
So bang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye : 

O willow, &c. 20 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland* 






In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view, 

O willow, &c 
Of all that doe knowe her, to blase her untrue. 

O willow, &c. 25 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c 

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, 

O willow, Sec. [sweet'' 

" Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most 
^ O willow, &c SO 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love, 

O willow, etc. 
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowts I prove ; 

O willow, &c 35 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c 

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, 

O willow, &c [name • 

Cause once well I loved her, and honoured hei 

O willow, fitc. 40 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c 

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare, 

O willow, &c 
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare ; 

O willow, &c. 45 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe ; 

O willow, &c. 
It now brings me anguish ; then brought me reliefe. 

O willow, &c. 50 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Farewell, faire false hearted : plaints end with my 
O willow, willow, willow 1 [breath ! 

Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my 
death. 
O willow, willow, willow ! 55 

O willow, willow, willow I 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland* 



IX. 
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



. This ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second 
part of Henry IV. act ii. The subject of it is taken 
from the ancient romance of King Arthur, (com- 
monly called Morte Arthur), being a poetical trans- 
lation of chap, cviii., cix., ex., in part 1st, as they 
stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the 
chapters are differently numbered. — This song is 
given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a 
fragment in the editor's folio MS. 

In the same play of 9 Henry IV. Silence hums a 
scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It 
is taken from the following stanza of " Robin Hood 
and the Pindar of Wakefield."— 

All this beheard three wighty yeomen, 
Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John : 

With that they espyM the jolly Pindar 
As he sate under a throne. 



That ballad may be found on every stall, and 
therefore is not here reprinted. 

When Arthur first in court began, 

And was approved king, 
By force of amies great victory* wanne, 

And conquest home did bring. <• 



Then into England straight he came 

With fifty good and able 
Knights, that resorted unto him, 

And were of his round table : 



And he had justs and turnaments, 
Wberto were many prest, 

Wherein some knights did far exoell 
And eke surmount the rest. 




10^1, 



a-,* 



r= 



54 



8IR LANCELOT DV LAKK. 



But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, 

Who was approved well, 
He for his deeds and feats of armea 15 

All others did excelL 

When he had rested him a while, 

In play, and game, and sportt, 
He said he wold goe prove himselfe 

In some adventurous sort 20 

He armed rode in a forrest wide, 

And met a damsell faire. 
Who told him of adventures great, 

Wherto he gave great eare. 

Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott : 95 

For that cause came I hither. 
Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good, 

And I will bring thee thither. 

Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell, 

That now is of great fame : 30 

Therfore tell me what wight thou art, 

And what may he thy name. 

" My name is Lancelot du Lake." 

Quoth she, it likes me than : 
Here dwelles a knight who never was 35 

Yet matcht with any man : 

Who has in prison threescore knights 

And four, that he did wound ; 
Knights of King Arthurs court they he, 

And of hid table round. 40 

She brought him to a river side, 

And also to a tree, 
Whereon a copper bason hung, 

And many shields to see. 

He struck soe hard, the bason broke ; 45 

And Tarquin soon he spyed : 
Who drove a horse before him fast, 

Whereon a knight lay tyed. 

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelott, 

Bring me that horse-load hither, 60 

And lay him downe, and let him rest ; 
Weel try our force together: 

For, as I understand, thou hast, 

Soe far as thou art able, 
Done great despite and shame unto 55 

The knights of the Round Table. 

If thou be of the Table Round, 

Quoth Tarquin speedilye, 
Both thee and all thy fellowship 

I utterly defye. 60 

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho, 

Defend thee by and by. 
They sett their spearea unto their steeds, 

Aid eache att other flie. . 

They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran, 65 
Ag u$pgh there had beene thunder) 

And*trupke them each immidst their shields, 
Wherewith they broke in sunder. 



V. W, to sportt, MS. V. SO, Where is often re*d by oar 
•Id writers for where**: here it is jast the contrary. 



Their horsses backes brake under them, 

. he knights were both astound : 7C 

To avoyd their horsses they made haste 
And light upon the ground. 

They tooke them to their shields full fast. 

They swords they drew out than, 
With mighty strokes most eagerlye 7«* 

Each at the other ran. 

They wounded were, and bled full sore, 

They both for breath did stand, 
And leaning on their swords awhile, 

Quoth. Tarquine, Hold thy hand, 8C 

And tell to me what I shall aske, 

Say on, quoth Lancelot tho. 
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight 

That ever 1 did know j 

And like a knight that I did hate : 85 

Soe that thou be not hee, 
I will deliver all the rest, 

And eke accord with thee. 

That is well said quoth Lancelott ; 

But sith it must be soe, 90 

What knight is that thou hatest thus r 

1 pray thee to me show. 

His name is Launcelot du Lake, 

He slew my brother deere ; 
Him I suspect of all the rest : 95 

I would 1 had him here. 

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, 

1 am Lancelot du Lake, 
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round j 

King Hauds son of Schuwake ; IOC 

And I desire thee do thy worst. 

Ho, ho, quoth Tarqin tho, 
One of us two shall end our lives 

Before that we do go. 

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, 105 

Then welcome shalt thou bee . 
Wherfore see thou thyself defend, 

For now defye I thee. 

They buckled then together so, 

Like unto wild boares rash in g* ; 110 

And with their swords and shields they ran 

At one another slashing : 

The ground besprinkled was wyth blood : 

Tarquin began to yield ; 
For he gave backe for wearinesse, 115 

And lowe did beare his shield. 



* Bashing teem* to be the old hunting; term to express 
the stroke made by the wild-boar with his fangs. To rase 
h<«s apparently a meaning something similar. Sec Mr. Stee 
venn's Note on K. Lear, art iii. sc. 7. (ed. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 
103, ) where the quartos read. * 

" Nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed flesh nun boarts*i fangs." 
So In K. Richard III, act iii, sc 2, (vol. x. p. 507, 083,) 

" He dreamt 
To night the Boar had rated off h*s helm " 



i 



1 1 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



55 



Phis soone Sir Lancelot espyde, 

He lropt upon him then, 
He pull'd him downe upon his knee, 

And rushing off his helm. 



Forthwith he strucke his necke in two, 

And, when he had soe done, 
From prison threescore knights and fb~? 
120 Delivered everye one, 



X. 



CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIP 



!! 



_ an attempt to paint a lover's i Resolution, but 
so poorly executed, that it would not have been 
admitted into this collection, if it had not been 
quoted in Shakespeare's Twelfth-Night, act ii. sc. 3. 
— It is found in a little ancient miscellany, entitled 
'* The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 12mo. 
bl. let 

In the same scene of the Twelfth-night, Sir Toby 
sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in 
the Pepy's collection, [vol. i. pp. 33, 496.] ; but as 
it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very 
Long, it wnl be sufficient here to give the first stanza : 

The Ballad or Constant Susanna. 

There dwelt a man in Babylon 
Of reputation great by fame; 
He took to wife a faire woman, 

Susanna she Was callde by name : 
A wom an faj r-a nd ve iluo us ; 

Lady, lady : 
Why should we not of her learn thus 

To live godly t 

If this song of Corydon, &c. has not more merit, 
it is at least an evil of less magnitude. 

Farewell, dear love ; since thou wilt heeds be gone, 
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done. 
Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie 



There be many mo, though that she doe goe, 
There be many mo, I tear Lot : 5 

Why then let her goe, I care not. 

Farewell, farewell ; since this I find is true 
I will not spend more time in 1 wooing you : 

But I "will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there : 
Shall I bid her goe ? what and if I doe ? 10 

Shall I bid her goe and spare not 1 
O no, no, no, I dare not. 

Ten thousand times farewell ; — yet stay a while : — 

Sweet, kiss me once ; sweet kisses time beguile: * 

I have no power to move. How now am I in love? 15 

Wilt thou needs be gone ? Go then, all is one. 

Wilt thou needs be gone ? Oh, hie thee ! 

Nay stay, and do no more deny me. 

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart 
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart. 90 

but seeing I must lose thy love, w hich I did choose, 
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be. 
Goe th v ways for me. But whither ? 
Goe, oh, but where I may come thither. 

What shall I doe ? my love is now departed. t5 

She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted. [repeated, 

She would not be intreated, with prayers oft 

If she come no more, shall I die therefore ? 

If she come no more, what care I ? 

Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry. 50 



XI. . 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE, 



In the " Life of Pope Sixtus V, translated from 
the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr Fame- 
worth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the follow- 
ing effect. 

" It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken 
and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and 
carried off an immense booty. 'l*bi* account came 
in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very consider- 
able merchant in the city, who had large concerns in 
those parts, which be had insured. Upon receiving 
this news, he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, 
a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew whose 
interest it was to have such a report thought false, 
gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, 
and at last worked himself into such a passion, 
that he said, I'll lay you a pound of flesh it is a 



lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied* 
I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound 
of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted 
the wager, and articles were immediately executed 
betwixt tbem, that, if Secchi won, he should him- 
self cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever 
part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of 
the account was soon confirmed ; and the Jew was 
almost distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi 
had solemnly swore he would compel him to an 
exact performance of his contract. A report of this 
transaction wis brought to the Pope, who sent for 
the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair, 
said, when contracts are made, it is but just they 
should be fulfilled, as this shall: take a knife, there- 
fore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any 



\ 



56 



0ERNUTU8 THE JEW OF VENICE. 



part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you 
However, to be very carefull ; for, if you cut but a 
scruple more or less than your due, you shall certainly 
be hanged." 

The editor of that book is of opinion, that the scene 
between Sbylock and Antonio in the " Merchant of 
Venice*' is taken from this incident. But Mr. 
Warton, in his ingenious "Observations on the 
Faerie Queen, vol. i. page 128/' has referred it to the 
following ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad 
was written before Shakspeare's play, as being not 
so circumstantial, and having more of the nakedness 
of an original. Besides, it differs from the play in 
many circumstances, which a mere copyist, such as 
we may suppose the ballad-maker to be, would hardly 
have given himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he 
expressly informs us, that he had his story from the 
Italian writers. See the "Connoisseur," vol i. 
No. 16. 

After all, one would be glad to know what autho- 
rity " Leti" had for the foregoing fact, or at least for 
connecting it with the taking of St. Domingo by 
Drake ; for this expedition did not happen till 1585, 
and it is very certain that a play of the " Jewe, re- 
presenting the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and 
bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibited at the 
play-house called the " Bull," before the year 1579, 
being mentioned in Steph. Gosson's " Schoole of 
Abuse*," which was printed in that year. 

As for Shakespeare s " Merchant of- Venice," the 
earliest edition known of it is in quarto, 1600 ; 
chough it had been exhibited in the year 1598, 
being mentioned, together with eleven others of his 
plays, in Meres's "Wits Treasury," &c. i 598, 12mo. 
fol. 282. See Malone's Shakesp. 

The following is printed from an ancient black- 
letter copy in the Pepys collection f, entitled, "A new 
Song, shewing the crueltie of ' Gernutus, a Jewe,' 
who, lending to a merchant an hundred crowns, 
would have a pound of his fleshe, because he could 
aot pay him at the time appointed. To the tune of 
Black and Yellow." 

THE FIRST PART* 

Ik Venice towne not longagoe 

A cruel Jew did dwell, 
Which lived all on usurie 

As Italian writers tell. 

Gernutus called was the *ew, 5 

Which never thought to dye, 
Nor ever yet did any good 

To them in streets that lie. 



His life was like a barrow hogge, 

That liveth many a day, 
Yet never once doth any good, 

Until men will him slay. 

Or like a filthy heap of dung, 

That lyeth in a whoard ; 
Which never can do any good, 

'Jill it be spread abroad. 

So fares it with the usurer, 

He cannot sleep in rest, 
For feare the thiefe will him pursue 

To plucke him from his nest. 

* Warton, nbi anpra. 
♦ Compared with the Anhmole Copy. 



10 



15 



«0 



His heart doth thinke on many a wile. 

How to deceive the noore ; 
His mouth is almost ful of mucke, 

Yet still he gapes for more. 

His wife must lend a shilling, f 5 

For every weeke a penny, 
Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, 

If that you will have any. 

And see, likewise, you keepe your day, 

Or else you loose it all : 50 

This was the living of the wife, 
Her cow she did it calL 

Within that citie dwelt that time 

A marchant of great fame, 
Which being distressed in his need, 35 

Unto Gernutus came : 

Desiring him to stand his friend 

For twelve month and a day, 
To lend to him an hundred crownes : 

And he for it would pay 40 

Whatsoever he would demand of him, 

And pledges he should have. 
No, (quoth the Jew with Hearing lookes,) 

Sir, aske what you will have. 

No penny for the loane of it 45 

For one year you shall pay ; 
You may doe me as good a turne, 

Before my dying day. 

But we will have a merry jeast, 

For to be talked long : 50 

You shall make me a bond, quoth he. 

That shall be large and strong : 

And this shall be the forfeiture ; 

Of your owne fleshe a pound. 
If you ngree, make you the bond, 55 

And here is a hundred crownes. 

With right good will ! the marchant w.ys : 

And so the bond was made. 
When twelve month and a day drew on 

That backe it should be payd. 60 \\ 

The merchants ships were all at sea, 

And money came not in ; 
Which way to take, or what to doe 

To thinke he doth begin : 

And to Gernutus strait he comes 65 

With cap and bended knee, 
And sayde to him, Of curtesie 

I pray you beare with mee. 

My day is come, and I have not 

The money for to pay : 70 

And little good the forfeyture 

Will doe you, I dare say, 



V. 32. Cow, Ac seems to have suggested to Shakespeare 
Shy lock's argument for usury taken from Jacob's manage- 
of Labia's sheep, act i, to which Antonio replies: 
" Was this inserted to make Interest good f 

Or are yonr gold and silver ewes and rams f 
M Sky. I cannot telL I make it breed tufa*." * 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



67 



With all my heart, Gernutus sayd, 

Commaund it to your minde : 
In thinges of bigger weight then this 75 

You shall me ready finde. 

He goes his way ; the day once past 

Gernutus doth not slacks 
To get a sergiant presently ; 

And clapt him on the backe : 80 

And layd him into prison strong, 

And sued his bond withall ; 
And when the judgement day was come, 

For judgement he did call. 

The marchants friends came thither fast 85 

With many a weeping eye. 
For other means they could not find. 

But he that day must dye, 

THB SECOND PART. 

' Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the merci- 
tulnesse of the Judge towards the Merchant. To 
the tune of Blacke and Yellow." 

Some offered for his hundred crownes 

Five hundred for to pay ; 
And some a thousand, two or three, 

Yet still he did denay. 

A ad at the last ten thousand crownes 5 

They offered, him to save. 
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold : 

My forfeits I will have. 

A pound of fleshe is my demand, 

And that shall be my hire. 10 

Then sayd the judge, Vet, good my friend. 

Let me of you desire 

To take the flesh from such a place, 

As yet you let him live : 
Do so, and lo ( an hundred crownes 15 

To thee here will I give. 

No : no: quoth he ; no : judgement here : 

For this it shall be tride, 
For I will have my pound of fleshe 

From under his right side. 20 

It grieved all the companie 

His crueltie to see, 
' For neither friend nor foe could helpe 
But he must spoyled bee. 

The bloudie Jew now ready is f 5 

With whetted blade in hand*. 
To spoyle the bloud of innocent, 

By forfeit of his bond. 

And as he was about to strike 

In him the deadly blow : 30 

Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie ; 

I charge the to do so. 



* The passage In Shakespeare bears so strong a resem- 
blance to this, a* to render it probable that the one suggested 
the other. See act Iv. sc. 2. 

" Bam. Whff dott thorn whet thy kn{f« to mnmetip T *c." 



Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have, 

Which is of flesh a pound : 
See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 5.*' 

Nor yet the man confound. 

For if thou doe, like murderer . 

Thou here shalt hanged be : 
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut 

No more than longes to thee : 4" 

For if thou take either more or lesse 

To the value of a mite, 
Thou shalt be hanged presently, 

As is both law and right. 

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45 

And wotes not what to say ; 
Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes, 

I will that he shall pay ; 

And so I graunt to set him free. 

The judge doth answere make ; 50 

You shall not have a penny given ; 

Your forfeiture now take. 

At the last he doth demaund 

But for to have his owne. 
No, quoth the judge, doe as you list, 55 

Thy judgement shall be showne. 

Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he. 

Or cancell me your bond. 
O cruell judge, then, quoth the Jew, 

That doth against me stand 1 60 

And so with griping grieved mind 

He biddeth them fare-well. 
' Then ' all the people prays'd tke Lord, 

That ever this heard teu. 

Good people, that doe heare this song, 65 

For trueth I dare well say, 
That many a wretch as ill as bee 

Doth lire now at this day j 

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle 

Of many a wealthy man, 70 

And for to trap the innocent 

Deviseth what they can. 

From whome the Lord deliver me, 

And every Christian too, 
And send to them like sentence eke 75 

That meaneth so to do. 

•J* Since the first edition of this book was printed , 
the Editor hath had reason to believe that both 
Shakespeare and the Author of this ballad are in- 
debted for their story of the Jew (however they 
came by it) to an Italian Novel, which was first 
printed at Milan in the year 1554, in a book entitled, 
II pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novell* 
antiche, ficc. re-published at Florence about the year 
1748, or 9. — The Author was Ser. Giovanni Fioren- 
tino, who wrote in 1378; thirty vears after th< 
time in which the scene of Boccace s Decameron is 
laid. (Vid. Manni Istoria del Decamaron di Giov. 
Boccac 4to Fior. 1744.) 

That Shakespeare had his plot from the Novel it- 

Y. 01, griped, AshmoL copy. 



w 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 



self, is evident from his having some incidents from 
it, which are not found in the ballad: and I think it 
will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad 
some hints that were not suggested by the novel. 
(See above, pt. 2, ver. 25, &c. where, instead of that 
spirited description of the whetted Made, &o. the Prose 
Narrative coldly says, " The Jew had prepared a 
razor, &c." See also some other passages in the 
same piece.) This however is spoken with diffidence, 
as 1 have at present before me only the abridgement 



of the novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the 
end of his commentary on Shakespeare's play. The 
translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to 
be met with, having I believe never been published, 
though it was printed some years ago with this title, 
" The Novel, from which the Merchant of Venice, 
written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the 
Italian. To which is added, a translation of a novel 
from the Decamerone of Boccacio, London, Printed 
for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo." 



XII. 
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 



This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry 
Wives of Windsor, actiii. sc. 1, and hath been usually 
ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare 
himself by the modern editors of his smaller poems. 
A copy of this madrigal, containing only four stanzas 
'the 4th and 6th being wanting,) accompanied with 
the first stanza of the answer, being printed in " The 
Passionate Pilgrime, and Sonnets to sundry Notes 
of Musicke, by Mr. William Shakespeare, Loud, 
printed for W. Jaggard, 1599." Thus was this 
sonnet, &c. published as Shakespeare's in his life- 
time. 

And yet there is good reason to believe that (not 
Shakespeare, but) Christopher Mario w wrote the 
song, and Sir Walter Raleigh the" Nymph's Reply:" 
tor so we are positively assured by Isaac Walton, 
a writer of some credit, who has inserted them both 
in his Comnleat Angler*, under the character of 
" that smooth song, which was made by KitMarlow, 
now at least fifty years ago; and ... .an Answer to 
it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his 
youneer days. . . . Old fashioned poetry, but choicely 
good. — It also passed for Marlow'a m the opinion 
of his contemporaries ; for in the old poetical miscel- 
lany, entitled, " England's Helicon, it is printed 
with the name of Chr. Marlow subjoined to it ; 
and the reply is signed Ignoto, which is known to 
have been a signature of Sir Walter Raleigh. With 
the same signature Ignoto, in that collection, is an 
imitation of Marlow 's, beginning thus : 



« 



Come live with me, and be my dear, 
And we will revel all the year, 
In plains and groves, flee. 

Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute them to 
Marlow, and Raleigh ; notwithstanding the au- 
thority of Shakespeare's Book of Sonnets. For it is 
well known that as he took no care of his own com- 
positions, so was be utterly regardless what spurious 
things were fathered upon him. Sir John Oldcastle, 
the London Prodigal, and the Yorkshire Tragedy, 
were printed with his name at full length in the title- 
pages, while he was living, which yet were after- 
wards rejected by his first editors Heininge and 
Condell, who were his intimate friends, (as he men- 
tions both in his will,) and therefore no doubt had 
good authority for setting them asidef. 

• First printed la the year 1053, bat probably written 
some time before. 

t Since the above was written, Mr. Malone. with his nsoal 
discernment, hath rejected the stanza* in qoestiuu from the 
other sonnets, &c. ot' Shakespeare, in liis correct edition of 
Ike Passionate Pilgrim, &c See his Shaaesp. vol. x, p. 340 






The following sonnet appears to have been (as it 
deserved) a great favourite with our earlier poets : 
for, besides the imitation above mentioned, another 
is to be found among Donne's Poems, entitled, "The 
Bait," beginning thus : 

" Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will some new pleasures prove "* 
Of golden sands, &c." 

As for Chr. Marlow, who was m high repute for 
his dramatic writings, he lost his life by a stab re- 
ceived in a brothel, before the year 1593. See A 
Wood, i. 138. 

Come live with me, and be my love. 
And we wil all the pleasures prove 
That hils and vallies, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks, £ 

And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 

With a thousand fragrant posies, 10 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 

Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle ; 

A gown made of the finest wjol 
'Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold ; 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw, and ivie buds, 

With coral clasps, and amber studs : 

And if these pleasures may thee move, 

Then live with me, and be my love. SO 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning ; 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me and be my love. 

The Nymph's Reply. 

If that the World and Love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's toung, 
These pretty pleasures might me more 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 5 

When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, 
And Philomel becometh dumb. 
And all complain of cares tc come. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



5» 



The flowers do fade, end wanton fields 

To wayward winter reckoning yield : 10 I 

A honey tongue, a hearf of gall, 

Is fancies spring, hut sorrows falL 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thv beds of roses, 

Thy cap, thy lortle, and thy posies, 

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 15 

In folly ripe, in reason rotten* 



Thy belt of straw, and ivie bods, 
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ; 
All these in me no means can more 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and lore still breed, 
Had joyes no date, nor age no need ; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To lire with thee, and be thy love. 



fo- 



XIII. 
TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



^ 



Tub reader has here an ancient ballad on the same 
subject as the piny of " Titus Andronicus," and it 
is probable that toe one was borrowed from the 
other : but which of them was the original, it is not 
easy to decide. And yet, if the argument offered 
-.ibove in page 227, for the priority of the ballad of 
the Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat of 
the same kind may be urged here ; for this ballad 
differs from the play in several particulars, which a 
simple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than 
on inventive tragedian. Thus, in the ballad, is no 
mention of the contest for the empire between the 
two brothers, the composing of which makes the 
ungrateful treatment of Titus afterwards the more 
flngrant : neither is there any notice taken of his 
sacrificing one of Tamora's sons, which the tragic 
poet has assigned as the original cause of all her 
cruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty-one of 
his sons in war, and kills another for assisting Bas- 
sianus to carry off Lavinia : the reader will find it 
different in the ballad. In the latter she is be- 
trothed to the emperor's son : in the play to his 
brother. In the tragedy, only two of his sons fall 
into the pit, and the third, being banished, returns 
to Rome with a victorious army, to avenge the 
wrongs of his house : in the ballad, all three are 
entrapped and suffer death. In the scene, the em- 
peror kills Titus, and is, in return, stabbed by Titus's 
surviving son. Here Titus kills the emperor, and 
afterwards himself. 

Let the reader weigh these circumstances, and 
some others, wherein he will find them unlike, and 
then pronounce for himself. — After all, there is 
reason to conclude that this play was rather improved 
by Shekspeare, with a few fine touches of his pen, 
than originally written by him ; for, not to mention 
that the style is less figurative than hir others 
generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with dis- 
credit in the Induction to Ben Johnson's " Bartho- 
lomew Fair, in 1614," as one that had then been 
exhibited " five-and-twenty or thirty years :" which, 
if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the 
year 1589, at which time Shakspeare was but 25 ; 
an earlier date than ban be found for any other of 
his pieces : and if it does not clear him entirely 
of it, shows at least it was a first attempt t- 

* Mr. M alone think* lfifll to be the sera when oar author 
commenced a writer for the »Uge. St*e In his Shale ep. the 
ingenious " Attempt to aacer ain the order In which the play* 
of Shakespeare were written." 

t Since the above was written, Shakespeare's memory has 
been folly vindicated from the charge of writing the above 
play by the best critics. See what has been Breed by Stee- 
vens and M alone in their excellent editions of Shakespeare, 
Ace, 



The following is given from a copy in " The Gol- 
den Garland," entitled as above ; compared with 
three others, two of them in black letter in the Penys 
collection, entitled "The Lamentable and Tragical 
History of Titus Andronicus, &c." " To the Tune 
of Fortune," printed for £. Wright. Unluckily, 
none of these have any dates. 

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights, 
That in defence of native country fights, 
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for Rome, 
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home. 

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres, 5 
My name beloved was of all my peeres ; 
Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had, 
Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad. 

For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent, 
Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent ; 10 
Against the Goths full ten yeares weary warre 
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre. 

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine 
Before we did returne to Rome againe : 
Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but three 15 
Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see* 

When wars were done, I conquest home did bring 
And did present my prisoners to the king, 
The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a Moore, 
Which did such murders, like was nere before. 20 

The emperour did make this queene his wife, 
Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife ; 
The Moore, with her two sonnes did growe soe proud, 
That none like them in Rome might be allowd. 

The Moore soepleas'd this new-made empress' eie,25 
That she consented to him secretlye 
For to abuse her husbands marriage bed, 
And soe in time a blackamore she bred. 

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were inclinde, 
Consented with the Moore of bloody miude 30 
Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes, 
In crueli sort to bring them to their endes. 

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace, 
Both care and griefe began then to increase : 
Amongst my sonnes 1 had one d»ughter brighte, 95 
Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged sight ; 



60 



TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 



40 



My deare Lavinia was betrothed than 
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man : 
Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife, 
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life. 

He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise, 
Into a darksome den from light of skies : 
The cruell Moore did come that way as then 
With my three sonnes, who fell into the den, 



The Moore then fetcht the emperour with speed, 45 
For to accuse them of that murderous deed * 
And when my sonnes within the den were found, 
In wrongfull prison thy were cast and bound. 

But nowe, behold ? what wounded most my mind, 
The empresses two sonnes of savage kind 50 

My daughter ravished without remorse, 
And took away her honour, quite perforce. 

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre, 
Fearing this sweete should shortly turne to sowre, 
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell 55 
How that dishonours unto her befell. 

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite, 
Whereby their wickednesse she could not write ; 
Nor with her needle on her sampler so we 
The bloudye workers of her direfull woe. 60 

My brother Marcus found her in the wood, 
Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud, 
That trickled from her stumpes, and bloudlesse armes : 
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes. 

But when I sawe her in that woefull case, 65 

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face : 

For my Lavinia I lamented more 

Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before. 

When as I sawe she could not write nor speake. 
With grief mine aged heart began to brealte ; 70 
We apred an heape of sand upon the ground. 
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found. 

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, 
She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand : 
" The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse 75 
Are doers of this hateful wickednesse." 

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head, 
I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred, 



I wisht this hand, that fought for coontrie's fame, 
In cradle rockt, had first been strokes lame. 80 



The Moore delighting still in villainy 

Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free 

I should unto the king my right hand give, 

Aud then my three imprisoned sonnes should live. 

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, 85 
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed, 
But for my sonnes would willingly impart, 
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart. 

But as my life did linger thus in peine, 
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe, 90 

And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes, 
Which fiUd my dying heart with fresher moanes. 

Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe, 
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe : 
I shot my arrowes* towards heaven hie 95 

And for revenge to hell did often crye. 

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad, 
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad, 
(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they) 
To undermine and heare what I would say. 100 

I fed their foolish reines f a certaine space, 
Untill my friendes did find a secret place, 
Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound, 
And just revenge in cruell sort was found. 

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan 105 
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran : 
And then I ground their bones to powder small, 
And made a paste for pyes straight therewithall. 

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes, 
And at a banquet served in stately wise : 110 

Before the empresse set this loathsome meat ; 
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat. 

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life. 
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife. 
And stabVd the emperour fmmediatelie, 115 

And then myself: even so did Titus die. 

Then this revenge against the Moore was found. 
Alive they sett him halfe into the ground, 
Whereas he stood untill such time he starvM. 
And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd ISO 



XIV. 
TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY 



The first stanza of this little sonnet, which an 
eminent critic* justly admires for its extreme sweet- 
ness, is found in Shakespeare's " Measure for Mea- 
sure," act ir. so. 1. Both the stanzas are preserved 
in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Bloody Brother," 
act y. sc. £. Sewel and Gildon have printed it 
among Shakespeare's smaller poems ; but they have 
done the same by twenty other pieces that were 
never writ by him, their book being a wretched heap 
of inaccuracies and mistakes. It is not found in Jag- 

* Dr. Warbarton in bis Shakesp. 



gard's old eu-tion of Shakespeare's "Passionate 
Pilgrim $, &c 



* If the ballad was written before the play, I should rap- 
pose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from 
that in the Psalms, M They shoot out their arrows, even 
bitter words.*.' Ps. 64. 3. 

t i. e. encouraged them in their foolish hnmonrs, or fan- 
cies. 

X Mr. Malone in his improved edition of Shakespeare'* 
Sonnets, 6cc hath substituted this instead of Marlow's Ma 
drigal, printed above ; for which he hath assigned reason* 
which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 840. 



1 



Take, ob take those lips away, 
That so sweetlye were foraworne ; 

Aod those eyes, the breake of day, 
Lights, that do misleade the morne : 

But my kisses bring againe, 

Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine. 



Hide, oh bide those hills of snowe, 
Which thy frozen bosom beares, 

On whose tops the pinkes that growe 
Are of those that April wears ; 

But first set my poor heart free, 

Bound in those ioy chains by thee* 



XV. 
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



The reader has here an ancient ballad on the sub- 
ject of King Lear, which (as a sensible female critic 
has well observed ) bears so exact an analogy to 
the argument of Shakespeare's play, that his haying 
copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain 
that it was written before the tragedy. Here is 
found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old 
chronicles f do not mention, as also the extravagant 
cruelty exercised on him by his daughters, in the 
death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide.— 
The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us 
in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little 
evidence arises from within ; this the reader must 
weigh, and judge for himself. 

It may be proper to observe, that Shakspeare was 
not the first of our Dramatic Poets who fitted the 
story of IMr to the stage. His first 4to edition is 
dated 1608 ; but three years before that bad been 
printed a play entitled "The true Chronicle History 
of Leir and his three daughters Gonorill, Ragan, 
and Cordelia, as it hath been divers and sundry 
times lately acted, 1605, 4to." — This is a very poor 
and dull performance, but happily excited Shake* 
speare to undertake the subject, which he has given 
with very different incidents. It is remarkable, that 
neither the circumstances of Loir's madness, nor his 
retinue of a select number of knights, nor the affect- 
ing deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that 
first dramatic piece ; in all which Shakespeare con- 
curs with this ballad. 

But to form a true judgment of Shakespeare's 
merit, the curious reader should cast bis eye over 
that previous sketch, which he will find printed at 
the end of the twenty plays of Shakespeare, repub- 
lished from the quarto impressions by George 
Steevens, Esq. with such elegance and exactness as 
led us to expect that fine edition of all the works of 
our great Dramatic Poet, which he hath since pub- 
lished. 

The following ballad is (riven from an ancient copy 
in the "Golden Garland,'' bl. let entitled, "A 
lamentable Song of the Death of King Lear and his 
Three Daughters* To the tune of When flying 
Fame." 

Kino Leir once ruled in this land 

With princely power and peace ; 
And had all things with hearts content, 

That might his joys increase. 
Amongst those things that nature gave, 5 

Three daughters fair had he. 
So princely seeming beautiful, 

As fairer could not be. 

• If re. Lennox. Shakespeare Ulnstrated, vol. lit p. 309. 
4 See Jefftry of Monmouth, Holingshed, &c who relate 
Letr*s hblory in many respects the lame at the ballad. 



So on a time it pleas'd the king 

A ouestion thus to move, 
Whicn of his daughters to his grace 

Could shew the dearest love : 
For to my age you bring content, 

Quoth he, then let me hear, 
Which of you three in plighted troth 

The kindest will appear. 

To whom the eldest thus began ; 

Dear father, mind, quoth she. 
Before your face, to do you good, 

My blood shall render'd be : 
And for your sake my bleeding heart 

Shall hexe be cut in twain, 
Ere that I see your reverend age 

The smallest grief sustain. 

And so will I, the second said ; 

Dear father, for your sake, 
The worst of all extremities 

111 gently undertake : 
And serve your highness night and day 

With diligence and love ; 
That sweet content and quietness 

Discomforts may remove. 

In doing so, you glad my soul. 

The aged king reply'a ; 
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, 

How is thy love ally'd f 
My love (quoth young Cordelia then) 

Which 1 1 your grace I owe. 
Shall be the duty of a child. 

And that is au 111 show. 

And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he, 

Than doth thy duty bind ? 
I well perceive thy love is small, 

When as no more I find. 
Henceforth I banish thee my court, 

Thou art no child of mine ; 
Nor any part of this my realm 

By favour shall be thine. 

Thy elder sisters loves are more 

Than well I can demand. 
To whom I equally bestow 

My kingdoms and my land, 
Mypompal state and aft my goodly 

That lovingly I may 
With those thy sisters be maintain'd 

Until my dying day. 



10 



10 



15 



20 



*5 



30 



55 



40 



45 



50 



tt 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



1 bos flattering speeches won renown, 

By these two sisters here ; 
The third had causeless banishment, 

Yet was her lore more dear : 
For poor Cordelia patiently 

Went wandring up and dovn, 
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid, 

Through many an English town : 

Untill at Inst in famous France 

She gentler fortunes found ; 
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd 

The fairest on the ground : 
Where when the king her virtues heard, 

And this fair lady seen, 
With full consent of all his court 

He made his wife and queen. 

Her father King Leir this while 

With his two daughters staid : 
Forgetful of their promis'd loves, 

Full soon the same decay 'd ; 
And living in Queen Regan's court, 

The eldest of the twain. 
She took from him his chiefest meant, 

And most of all his train. 

For whereas twenty men were wont 

To wait with bended knee : 
She gave allowance but to ten, 

And after scarce to three ; 
Nay, one she thought too much for him ; 

So took she all away, 
In hope that in her court, good king, 

He woulc\ no longer stay. 

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he, 

In giving all I have 
Unto my children, and to beg 

For what I lately gave ? 
Ill go unto my Gonorell : 

My second child, I know, 
Will be more kind and pitiful, 

And will relieve my woe. 

Full fast he hies then to her court ; 

Where when she heard his moan 
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd, 

That all his means were gone : 
But no way could relieve his wants ; 

Yet if that he would stay 
Witbin her kitchen, he should have 

Wbat scullions gave away. 

When he had heard, with bitter tears, 

He made his answer then ; 
In what I did let me be made 

Example to all men. 
I will return again, quoth he, 

Unto my Ragan's court ; 
She will not use me thus, I hope, 

But in a kinder sort. 

Where when he came, she gave command 

To drive him thence a* ay : 
When he was well within her court 

(She said) be would not stay. 
Then back again to Gonorell 

The woeful king did hie, 
That in her kitchen he might have 

What scullion boys set by. 



6) 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



ISO 



But there of that he was denyM 

Which she had promis'd late : 
For once refusing^ ne should not 

Come after to her gate. 
Thus twixt his daughters, for relief 

He wandred up and down ; 
Being glad to feed on beggars food. 

That lately wore a crown. 

And calling to remembrance then 

His youngest daughters words. 
That said the duty of a child 

Was all that love affords : 
But doubting to repair to her, 

Whom he had banish 'd so, 
Grew frantick mad ; for in his mind 

He bore the wounds of woe : 

Which made him rend his milk-white locks, 

And tresses from his head, 
And all with blood bestain his cheeks, 

With age and honour spread. 
To hills and woods and watry founts 

He made his hourly moan, 
Till hills and woods and sensless things, 

Did seem to sigh and groan. 



135 



ISO 



135 



140 



145 



Even thus possest with discontents. 

He passed o're to France, 
In hopes from fair Cordelia there, 

To find some gentler chance ; 
Most virtuous dame? which when she heard 

Of ih is her father's grirf, 150 

As duty bound, she quickly sent 

Him comfort aod relief: 



And by a train of noble peers, 

In brave and gallant sort, 
She gave in charge he should be brought 

To Aganippus' court ; 
Whose royal king, with noble mind 

So freely gave consent, 
To muster up his knights at arms, 

To fame and courage bent. 

And so to England came with speed, 

To repossesse King Leir, 
And drive his daughters from their thrones 

By his Cordelia dear. 
Where she, true-heated noble queen, 

Was in the battel slain ; 
Yet he good king, in his old days, 

Possest his crown again. 

But when he heard Cordelia's death, 

Who died indeed for love 
Of her dear father, in whose cause 

She did this battle move ; 
He swooning fell upon her breast, 

From whence he never parted : 
But on her bosom left his life, 

That was so truly hearted. 

The lords and nobles when they saw 

The end of these events, 
The other sisters unto death 

They doomed by consents ; 
And being dead, their crowns they left 
* Unto the next of kin : 
Thus have you seen the fall of priae, 

And disobedient sin. • 



155 



160 



165 



70 



175 



1 1 



180 



FROLICKSO.ME DLKE, Oil 1HE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 



XVI. 
YOUTH AND AGE 



is found in the little collection of Shake- 
speare's Sonnets, entitled the «■ Passionate Pil- 
grime*," the greatest part of which seems to relate 
to the amours of Venus and Adonis, being little 
effusions of fancy, probably written while be was 
composing his larger Poem on that subject The 
following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, 
weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis 
and aged Vulcan. In the " Garland of Good Will" 
it is reprinted, with the addition of four more such 
stanzas, but evidently written by a meaner pen. 

Cbabbbd Age and Youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasancej 

Age is full of care : ' 
Youth like summer morn, 5 

Age like winter weather, 



Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare : 
Youth is full of sport, 
Ages breath is short ; 10 

Youth is nimble, Age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and Age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee, V 
Youth, I do adore thee J 15 

O, my love, my love is young i 
Age, I do dene thee ; 
On sweet ahepheard, hie thee, 

For methinks thou stayst too long. SO 

* # * See Malone's Shakesp. voL z, p. SS& 



h 
ij 



XVII. 
THE FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 



The following ballad is upon the same subject, as 
the Induction to Shakespeare a Taming of the Shrew : 
whether it may be thought to have suggested the 
hint to the Dramatic poet, or is not rather of later 
date, the reader must determine. 

The story is toldf of Philip the Good, Duke of 
Burgundy ; and is thus related by an old English 
writer : " The said duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, 
sister to the king of Portugall, at Bruges in Flanders, 
which was solemnised in the deepe of winter ; when 
as by reason of unseasonable weather he could nei- 
ther hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, 
dice, &c. and such other domestick sports, or to see 
ladies dance ; with some of his courtiers, he would 
in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. 
It so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he 
found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a 
bulke ; he caused his followers to bring him to bis 
palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and 
attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened 
he and they were all ready to attend upon his excel- 
lency, and persuade him that he was some great 
duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, 
was served in state all day long : after supper be 
saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of 
those court-like pleasures : but late at night, when 
he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put 
on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place 
where they first found him. Now the fellow had 
not made them so good snort the day before, as be 
did now, when he returned to himself : all the jest 
was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, 
after some little admiration, the poore man told his 
friends he had seen a vision ; constantly believed 
it ; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the 

• Mentioned above, gong xl. b. H. 

♦ By Ladov. Vivo is. Epis. and by Pont. Heater. Heroin 
^urgaud. L 4. 



jest ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, pt 
li. wc. 2. memb. 4. ¥d. e<l. 1624, fol. 

This ballad is given from a black-letter copy in 
the Pepys collection, which is entitled as above 
" To the tune of Fond boy." 

Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court, 
One that pleases his fancy with froticksome sport : 
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, 
Which will make you to smile when you hear the 

true jest : r 

A poor tinker be found, lying drunk on the ground, 5 
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound. 

The duke said to his men, William, Richard and Ben, 
Take him home to my palace, well sport with him 

then. 
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd 
To the palace, nltho' he was poorly arrai'd : 10 

Then they stript off his cloatns, both his shirt, shoes 

and nose, 
And they put him to bed for to take his repose. 

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt, 
They did give him clean holland, this was no great 

hurt: 
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, 15 
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown. 
In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, 
For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay. 

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state, 
Till at lust knights and squires they on him did 
wait ; *0 

And the chamberlain bare, then did likewise declare. 
He desired lo know what apparel he'd ware : 
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd, 
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd. 



64 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



7 



Tho' lie seem'd something urate, yet lie chose a rich 
suit, 25 

Which he straitways put on without longer dispute : 
With a star on his 'side, which the tinker offt ey'd, 
And it seetn'd for to swell him 'no' little with pride; 
For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet 

wife T 
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life. 30 

From a convenient place, the right duke bis good 
Did observe his behaviour in every case. [grace 
To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait, 
Trumpets sounding before him : thought he, this is 
great: m 34 

Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, 
With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew. 

A fine dinner was drest v both for himaud his guests, 
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest, 
In a rich chair ' or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red, 
With a rich golden canopy over his head : 40 

As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet, 
With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat. 

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, 
Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine. 
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl, 45 
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul [snore, 
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did 
Being seven times drunker than ever before. 

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him 

amain, 
And restore him his old leather garments again : 50 



Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they 

must, 
And they carry'd him strait, where they found him 

at first; 
Then be slept all the night, as indeed well he might ; 
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight. 

For his glory ' to him' so pleasant did seem, 55 
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream ; 
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he 

sought 
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought; 
But his highness he said, Thou 'rt a jolly bold blade, 
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid. 60 

Then bis highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak, 
Which he gave for the sake of thisfrolicksome joak ; 
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of 

ground, 
Thou shalt never, said be, ranee the counteries round, 
Crying old brass to mend, for 1 11 be thy good friend,65 
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess 

attend. 

Then the tinker reply'd, What ! must Joan my sweet 
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride ? [bride 

Mist we have gold and land ev'ry day at command T 
Then I shall be a squire I well understand: 70 

Well I thank your good grace, and your love I 

embrace, 
I was never before in so happy a case. 



XVIII. 
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



Dispersed through Shakespeare's plays are innu- 
merable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire 
copies of which could not be recovered. Many of 
these being of the most beautiful and pathetic sim- 
plicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of 
them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to con- 
nect them together, and term them into a little Tale, 
which is here submitted to the reader's candour. 

One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and 
Fletcher. 

It was a friar of orders gray 
Walkt forth to toll his beades ; 

And he met with a lady faire 
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes. 

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, 5 

I pray thee tell to me, 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My true love thou didst see. 

And how should I know your true love 

From many another one ? 10 

O, by bis cockle hat, and staff, 
And by his sandal shoone*. 



• These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The 

chief places of devotion being beyond tea, the pilgrims were 

Wool to pnt cockleshells In their bats to denote the intention 

* performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakesp. voL vlli. 

ft CM, 



But chiefly by his face and mien, 

That were so fair to view ; 
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl*d. 

And eyne of lovely blue. 

O lady, he is dead and gone ! 

Lady, he's dead and gone ! 
And at his head a green grass turfe, 

And at his heels a stone. 

Within these holy cloysters long 
He languisht, and he dyed, 

Lamenting of a ladyes love, 
And playning or her pride. 

Here bore him barefae'd on his bier 
Six proper youths and tall, 

And many a tear bedew'd his grave 
Within yon kirk-yard wall. 

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth 1 
And art thou dead and gone ! 

And didst thou dye for love of me t 
Break, cruel heart of stone t 

weep not, lady, weep not soe : 
Some ghostly comfort seek : 

Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 
Ne teares bedew thy cheek. 



95 



30 



S* 



5S 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



65 



O do not, do not, holy friar, 

My sorrow now reprove ; 
For I hare lost the sweetest youth, 

That e'er wan ladyes love. 40 

And nowe, alas ! for thy sad losse, 

I'll evermore weep and sigh : 
For thee I only wisht to live, 

For thee I wish to dye. 

Weep no more, lady, weep no more, 45 

Thy sorrowe is in vaine : 
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers 

Will ne'er make grow againe. 

Oar joys as winged dreams doe flye, 

Why then should sorrow last 7 50 

8ince grief hut aggravates thy losse, 

Grieve not for what is past. 

O say not soe, thou holy friar ; 

I pray thee, say not soe : 
For since my true-love dyed for mee, 55 

Tis meet my tears should flow. 

And will he ne'er come again 1 

Will he ne'er come agam 1 
Ah I no, he is dead and laid in his grave, 

For ever to remain. 60 

His cheek was redder than the rose ; 

The oomliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 

Alas, and woe is me t 

8igh no more, lady, sigh no more, 65 

Men were deceivers ever: 
One foot on sea and one on land, 

To one thing constant never, 

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false. 
And left thee sad and heavy ; 70 

For voung men ever were fickle found. 
Since summer trees were leafy 

Now say not soe, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not soe ; 
My love he had the truest heart : 75 

O he was ever true I 



And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, 

And didst thou dye for mee ? 
Then farewell home ; for ever-more 

A pilgrim I will bee. 80 

But first upon my true-loves grave 

My weary limbs 111 lay, 
And thrice 111 kiss the green-grass turf. 

That wraps his breathless clay 

Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile 85 

Beneath this cloyster wall : 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind. 

And drizzly rain doth fall. 

O stay me not, thou holy friar; 

O stay me not, I pray ; 90 

No drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault away. 

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again. 

And dry those pearly tears ; 
For see beneath this gown of gray 95 

Thy owne true-love appears. 

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, 

rhese holy weeds I sought; 
And here amid these lonely walls 

To end my days I thought. 100 

But haply for my year of grace * 

Is not yet past away, 
Might I still hope to win thy love, 

No longer would I stay. 

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 105 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth. 

We never more will part. 

\* As the foregoing song has been thought to 
have suggested to our late excellent poet Dr. 
Goldsmith, the plan of this beautiful ballad of 
Edwin and Emma," (first printed in his "Vicar 
of Wakefield,") it is but justice to his memory to 
declare, that his poem was written first, and that if 
there is any imitation in the case, they will be found 
both to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad 
" Gentle Herdsman," &c printed in this work, 
which the doctor had much admired in manuscript, 
and has finely improved. See Series the Second, 
book L song xiv. ver. 37, &c 

• The year of probation* or nov<dt tt. 



tHl «MD Or TUB SECOND BOOE. 



06 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE. 



SERIES THE FIRST, 



BOOK III. 



I. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE, 



At the beginning of this volume we gave the old 
original Song of " Chevv Chace." The reader has 
here the more improved edition of that fine heroic 
ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to 
the curious to compare them together, and to see 
how for the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, 
and where he has fallen short of him. For though 
he has every where improved the versification, and 
generally the sentiment and diction ; yet some few 
passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy ; 
at least the obsoleteness of the style serves as a veil 
to hide whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar 
in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe of the 
gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest 
in terms which never mil at present to excite 
ridicule : whereas in the original it is related with a 
plain and pathetic simplicity, that is liable to no 
such unlucky effect: See the stanza in page 4, 
which, in modern orthography, &c would run 
thus : 

•' For Witherington my heart is woe, 

That ever he slain should be : 
For when his legs were hewn in two 

He knelt and fought on his knee." 

So again the stanza which describes the fall of 
Montgomery is somewhat more elevated in the 
ancient copy : 

" The dint it was both sad and sore, 
He on Montgomery set : 
The swan-feathers his arrow bore 
With his hearts blood were wet." 

Wx might also add, that the circumstances of the 
battle are more clearly conceived, and the several 
incidents more distinctly marked in the old original, 
than in the improved copy. It is well known that 
the ancient English weapon was the long bow, and 
that this nation excelled all others in archery j 
while the Scottish warriours chiefly depended on 
the use of the spear : this characteristic difference 
never escapes our ancient bard, whose description 
of the first onset (p. 8.) is to the following effect : 

" The proposal of the two gallant earls to de- 
termine the dispute by single combat being over- 
ruled ; the English, says he, who stood with their 
bows ready bent, gave a general discharge of their 
arrows, which slew seven score spearmen of the 
enemy : but, notwithstanding so severe a loss, 
Douglas like a brave captain kept his ground. He 
had divided his forces into three columns, who 
as soon as the English had discharged the first 
volley, bore down upon them with their spears, and 
breaking through their ranks reduced them to close 
fighting. The archers upon this dropt their bows 
and had recourse to their swords, and there followed 



so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on both 8 id 
lost their lives." In the midst of this general 
engagement, at length, the two great earls meet* 
and after a spirited rencounter agree to breathe •, 
upon which a parley ensues, that would do honour 
to Homer himself. 

Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct and cir- 
cumstantial than this : whereas, the modern copy, 
though in general it has great merit, is here unluckily 
both confused and obscure. Indeed the original 
words seem here to have been totally misunderstood. 
" Yet bydys the yerl Douglas upon the Bent" evi- 
dently signifies, " Yet the earl Douglas abides in the 
Field :" Whereas the more modern bard seems to 
have understood by Bent, the inclination of bis 
mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the sub- 
ject . 



" To drive the deer with hound and horn 
Earl Douglas had the bent." 



v. 109. 



One may also observe a generous impartiality in 
the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his 
tale he represents both nations as quitting the field, 
without any reproachful reflection on either : though 
he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being 
the smaller number. 



tt 



Of fifteen hundred archers of England 

Went away but fifty and three ; 
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland, 

But even five and fifty." 

He attributes flight to neither party, as hath been 
done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well 
Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter 
bard, who makes the Scots to flee, some reviser of 
North Britain has turned his own arms against him, 
and printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the 
lines are thus transposed : 

" Of fifteen hundred Scottish spiers 
Went hame but fifty-three : 
Of twenty hundred Englishmen 
Scarce fifty-five did flee." 

And to countenance this change he has suppressed 
the two stanzas between ver. 240 and ver. 249. — 
From that edition I have here reformed the Scottish 
names, which in the modern English ballad ap- 
peared to be corrupted. 

When I call the present admired ballad modern, I 
only mean that it is comparatively so ; for that it 



* In the present edition, Instead of the unmeaning lines 
here censored, an insertion is made of four stanzas modern 
ized from the ancient cooy. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE. 



67 



could not be writ much later than the time of Queen 
Elizabeth, I think may be made appear ; nor yet does 
it seem to be older than the beginning of the last cen- 
tury*. Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the 
antiquated phrase of "Chevy-chace," could never have 
seen this improved copy, the language of vt hich is not 
more ancient than that he himself used. It is proba- 
ble that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited 
some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from 
those faults he had objected to it. That it could not 
be much later than that time, appears from the phrase 
" Doleful Dumps ;" which in that age carried no 
ill sound with it, but to the next generation became 
ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a 
sonnet that was at that time in request, and where 
it could not fail to have been taken notice of, had it 
been in the least exceptionable : see above, b. ii. 
song v. ver. 2 : Yet, in about half a century after, it 
was become burlesque. Vide liudibras, pt. i. c. 3, 
r. 95. 

This much premised, the reader that would see the 
general beauties of this ballad set in a just and 
striking light, may consult the excellent criticism of 
Mr. Addison f. With regard to its subject : it has 
already been considered in page 1st. The conjec- 
tures there offered will receive confirmation from a 
passage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Monmouth, 
8vo, 1759, p. 165 ; whence we learn that it was an 
ancient custom with the borderers of the two king- 
doms, when they were at peace, to send to the Lord 
Wardens of the opposite Marches for leave to hunt 
within their districts. If leave was granted, then 
towards the end of summer they would come and 
hunt for several days together "with their Grey- 
hounds for Deer :" but if they took this liberty un- 
permitted, then the Lord Warden of the border so 
invaded, would not fail to interrupt their sport and 
chastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable 
instance that happened while he was Warden, when 
some Scotch Gentlemen coming to bunt in defiance 
of him, there must have ensued such an action as 
this of Chevy Chace, if the intruders had been pro- 
portionably numerous and well-armed: for, upon 
their being attacked by bis men at arms, he tells us, 
" some hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall 
order that they should shed as little blood as pos- 
sible." They were in effect overpowered and taken 
prisoners, and only released on their promise to ab- 
stain from such licentious sporting for the future. 

The following text is given from a copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three others 
printed in black-letter — In the second volume of 
Dryden's Miscellanies may be found a translation of 
Chevy-Chace into Latin Rymes. The translator, 
Mr. Henry Bold, of New College, undertook it at 
the command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London ; 

• A late writer has started a notion that the more modem 
copy " was written to be sang by a party of English, headed 
by a Douglas in the year 1AM ; which is the true reason 
why, at the same time that it gives the advantage to the 
English soldiers above the Scotch, it gives yet so lovely and 
so m»nifestly superior a character to die Scotch commander 
above the English." See Say's Essay on the Numbers of 
Paradise Lost, 4to, 1749, p. 107. 

This appears to me a groundless conjecture ; the language 
teems too modern for the date above mentioned ; and, had it 
bten printed even so early a» Queen Elisabeth's reign, I think 
I should have met with some copy wherein the first line 
would have been, 

God prosper long our noble queen, 
as was the case with the Blind Beggar of BednalGrem; see 
Series the Second, No. x. ver. 23. 
t In the Spectator, No. 70. 74. 



a 



who thought it no derogation to his episcopal cha- 
racter, to avow a fondness for this excellent old 
ballad. See the preface to Bold's Latin Songs, 
16*85, 8vo. 

Gon prosper long our noble king, 

Our lives and safetyes all ; 
A woefull hunting once there did 

In Chevy-Chace befall j 

To drive the doer© with hound and home, 

Erie Percy took his way, 
The child may rue that is unborne, 

The hunting of that day. 

The stout Erie of Northumberland 

A vow to God did make, 10 

His pleasure in the Scottish woods 

Three summers days to take ; 

The cheefest harts in Cbevy-chace 

To kill and beare away. 
These tydings to Erie Douglas came, IS 

In Scottland where he lay : 

Who sent Erie Percy present word, 

He would prevent his sport. 
The English Erie, not fearing that, 

Did to the woods resort. f 

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold ; 

All chosen men of might, 
Who knew full well in tune of neede 

To ayme their shafts aright. 

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, 25 

To chase the fallow deere : 
On munday they began to hunt, 

Ere day-light did appeare j 

And long before high noone they had 

An hundred fat buckes slaine ; SO 

Then having dined, the drovyers went 
To re aze the deore againe. 

The bow-men mustered on the hills, 

Well able to endure ; 
Theire backsides all, with speciall care, 35 

That day were guarded sure. 

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, 

The nimble deere to take*, 
That with their cryes the hills and dales 

An eccho shrill did make. 40 

Lord Percy to the quarry went, 

To view the slaughter*d deere ; 
Qouth he, Erie Douglas promised 

This day to meet me heere : 

Ver. 36, That they were, fol. MS. 
* The Chiviot Hills and circumjacent Wastes are at pre- 
sent void or Deer, and almost stript of their woods; but 
formerly they had enough of both to justify the description 
attempted here and In the Ancient Ballad of Chxvy Chasb. 
Leyiand, in the reign of Hen. VIII, thus describes this 
county : " In Northumberland, as I beare say, be no forests, 
except Chivet Hills; where is much Brushk-Wood, and 
some Okki; Grownde ovargrowne with Linge, and some 
with Mosse. I have harde say that Chivet Hi Us stretchetbe 
xx miles. There is greate Plente of Riddb-Dxre, and 

Roo Bukkes." Itin. voL vlL p. M. This passage, 

which did not occur when pages 7, were printed off, 
confirm the accounts there given of the Staoos and the 
Rob. 

»* 



68 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE. 

— — m 



But if I thought he wold not come, 

Noe longer wold I stay. 
With that, a brave younge gentleman 

Thus to the Erie did say : 

Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, 

His men in armour bright ; 
Full twenty hundred Scottish soeres 

All marching in our sight ; 

All men of pleasant Tivydale, 
Fast by the rirer Tweede : 

cease your sports, Erie Percy said, 
And take your bowes with speede * 

And now with me, my countrymen, 
Your courage forth advance ; 

For there was never champion yett 
In Scotland or in France, 

That ever did on horsebacke come. 
But if my hap it were, 

1 durst encounter man for man, 

With him to break a spere. 

Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, 

Most like a baron bold, 
Rode formost of his company, 

Whose armour shone like gold. 

8how me, sayd hee, whose men you bee, 

That hunt soe boldly heere, 
That, without my consent, doe chase 

And kill my fallow-deere. 

The first man that did answer make 

Was noble Percy hee ; 
Who sayd, Wee list not to declare, 

Nor shew whose men wee bee • 

Yet wee will spend our dearest blood, 

Thy cheefest harts to slay. 
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe 

And thus in rage did say, 

Ere thus I will out-braved bee, 

One of us two shall dye : 
I know thee well, an erle thou art ; 

Lord Percy, soe am I. 

But trust me, Percy, pittve it were 

And great offence to kill 
Any of these our guiltlesse men, 

For they have done no ill. 

Let thou and I the batten 1 trye, 

And set our men aside. 
Accurst bee he, Erie Percy sayd, 

By whom this is denyea. 

Then stept a gallant somer forth, 
Witherington was bis name, 

Who said, I wold not have it told 
To Henry our king for shame, 

That ere my captaine fought on foote, 

And I stood looking on. 
You bee two erles, sayd Witberinton 

And I a squier alone : 



45 



50 



55 



iO 



65 



70 



75 



fO 



85 



90 



95 



100 



He doe the best that doe I may, 

While 1 have power to stand : 
While I have power to weeld my sword, 

He fight with hart and hand. 

Our English archers bent their bowes, 105 

Their harts were good and trew ; 
Att the first flight of arrowes sent, 

Full four-score Scots they slew. 

* [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent. 

As Chieftan stout and good. HO 

As valiant Captain, all unmovM 
The shock he firmly stood. 

His host he parted had in three, 

As Leader ware and try'd, 
And soon his spearmen on their foes 11 5 

Bare down on etery side. 

* The four stanzas here inclosed in brackets, 
which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient copy, 
are offered to the reader instead of the following 
lines, which occur in the editor's folio MS. 

To drive the deere with hound and borne, 

Douglas bade on the bent ; 
Two captaines moved with mickle might 

Their spores to shivers went. 

Throughout the English archery 

They dealt full many a wound : 
But still our valiant Englishmen 

All firmly kept their ground : lfO 

And throwing strait their bows away, 
They graspM their swords so bright : 

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 
On shields and helmets light] 

They closed full fast on everye side, 1S5 

Noe slacknes there was found ; 
And many a gallant gentleman 

Lay gasping on the ground. 

O Christ ! it was a griefe to see, 

And likewise for to heare, ISO 

The cries of men lying in their gore. 

And scattered here and there. 

At last these two stout erles did meets 

Like captaines of great might : 
Like lyona wood, they layd on lode, 135 

And made a cruell fight : 

They fought untOl they both did sweat. 

With swords of tempered Steele ; 
Until the blood, like drops of rain, 

They trickling downe did feele. 140 

Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd ; 

n faith I will thee bringe, 
Where thou shalt high advanced bee 
By James our Scottish king : 

Thy ransome I will freely give, 145 

And this report of thee, 
Thou art the most couragions **"g'M 1 

That ever I did see. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CI1EVY-CHACE. 



69 



Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then, 

Thy proffer I doe scorne ; 150 

I will not yeelde to any Scott, . 

That ever yett was borne. 

With that, there came an arrow keene 

Out of an English bow, 
Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, 155 

A deepe and deadlye blow : 

Who never spake more words than these, 

Fight on, my merry men all ; 
For why, my life is at an end j 

Lord Percy sees my fall. 160 

Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke 

The dead man by the bana ; 
And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life 

Wold I had lost my land. 

O Christ ! my verry hart doth bleed 165 

With sorrow for thy sake ; 
For sure, a more redoubted knight 

Mischance cold never take* 

A knight amongst the Sootts there was, 

Which saw Erie Douglas dye, 170 

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge 
Upon the Lord Percye : 

8ir Hugh Mountgomery was he calTd, 

Who, with a spere most bright, 
Well-mounted on a gallant steed, 175 

Ran fiercely through the fight ; 

And past the English archers all, 

Without all dread or feare j 
And through Erie Percyee body then 

He thrust his hateful! spere ; 180 

With such a vehement force and might 

He did his body gore, 
The staff ran through the other side 

A large cloth-yard, and more. 

So thus did both these nobles dye, 185 

Whose courage none could staine : 
An English archer then perceiv'd 

The noble erle was slaine ; 

He had a bow bent in his hand, 

Made of a trusty tree ; 190 

An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

Up to the head drew hee : 

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 

So right the shaft he sett, 
The grey goose-wing that was thereon, 195 

In his harts blood was wett. 

This fight did last from break of day, 

Till setting of the sun ; 
For when they rung the evening-bell*, 

The battle scarce was done. 200 



•Sc the Curfew bell, usually rang at eight o'clock; to which 
the moderoiscr apparently allude*, instead of the" Evensong 
bell," or bell for vespers of .the original author, before the 
R ^formation. Vide anpra pag. 4, v. or. 



With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine 

Sir John of Egerton*, 
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 

Sir James that bold barron : 

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 205 

Both knights of good account, 
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, 

Whose prowesse did surmount 

For Witherington needs must I wayle, 
As one in doleful dumpes f; 210 

For when his leggs were smitten off, 
He fought upon his stumpes, 

And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine 

Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld f 15 

One foote wold never flee. 

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, 

His sisters sonne was hee ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd. 

Yet saved cold not bee. £20 

And the Lord Maxwell in like case. 

Did with Erie Douglas dye : 
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres 

Scarce fifty-five did flye. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 225 

Went home but fifty three ; 
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, 

Under the greene woode tree. 

Next day did many widowes come, 

Their husbands to bewayle 250 

They washt their wounds in brinish teares, 

But all wold not prevayle. 

Theyr oodyes, bathed in purple gore, 

They bare with them away : 
They kist them dead a thousand times, 235 

Eire they were cladd in clay. 

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, 

Where Scottlands king did raigne, 
That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye 

Was with an arrow slaine : 240 

heavy newes, King James did say, 
Scottland may witnesse bee, 

1 have not any captaine more 

Of such account as hee. 

Like tydings to King Henry came, 245 

Within as short a space, - 

Tha/ Percy of Northumberland ^ 

Was slaine in Chevy-Chase : 

Now God be with him, said our king, 
Sith it will noe better bee ; 250 

I trust I have, within my realme, 
Five hundred as good as hee : 



• For the surnames, aee the Notes at the end of the Hal 
lad. 

t i. e. "I, as one in deep concern, mast lament." The con 
strnction here has generally been mbmnd+rstood. The «W 
MS. reads wqfiUl dunve* 



TO 



DEATH'8 FINAL CONQUEST. 



Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say, 

But I will vengeance take : 
111 be revenged on them all, 255 

For brave Erie Percyes sake. 

This vow full well the king perform'd 

After, at Hnmbledowne ; 
In one day, fifty knights were slayne, 

With lords of great renowne : 260 

• 
And of the rest, of small account, 

Did many thousands dye : 

Thus endetn the hunting of Chevy-Chase, 

Made by the Erie Percy. 

God save our king, and bless this land 265 

With plentye, joy, and peace ; 
And grant henceforth, that foule debate 

'Twixt noblemen may cease. 

• # * Since the former impression of these volumes 
hath been published, a new edition of Collins's 
Peerage, 1779, &C. ix. vols. 8vo. which contains, in 
volume ii. p. 534, an historical passage, which may 
be thought to throw considerable light on the sub- 
ject of the preceding Ballad : viz. 

" In this . . • year, 1436, according to Hector 
Boethius, was fought the battle of Pepperden, not 
far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of 
Northumberland [lid Earl, son of Hotspur,] and 
Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army 
of about four thousand men each, in which the 
latter Had the advantage. As this seems to have 
been a private conflict between these two great 
Chieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, 
it has been thought to have given rise to the cele- 
brated old ballad of Chevy-Chase ; which, to render 
it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened 
with tragical incidents wholly fictitious." [See 
Ridpath's Border Hist. 4to, p. 401.] 

The surnames in the foregoing ballad are altered, 
either by accident or design, from the old original 
copy, and in common editions extremely corrupted. 
They are here rectified, as much as they could be. 
Thus, 

Pag, 69. 
Ver 202 Egerton.] This name is restored (in- 
stead of Ogerton, com. ed.) from the Editor's folio 
MS. The pieces in that MS. appear to have been 



| collected , and many of them composed (among which 
' might be this ballad) by an inhabitant of Cheshire : 
who was willing to pay a compliment here to one of 
his countrymen, of the eminent family De or Of 
Egerton (so the name was first written) ancestors of 
the present Duke of Bridgwater ; and this he could 
do with the more propriety, as the Percies had for- 
merly great interest m that county : At the fatal 
battle of Shrewsbury, all the flower of the Cheshire 
gentlemen lost their lives fighting in the cause of 
Hotspur. 

Ver. 203. Ratcliff.] This was a family much dis- 
tinguished in Nortumberland. Edw. Radcliffe mil. 
was sheriff of that county in 17 of Hen. VII, and 
others of the same surname afterwards. (See Fuller, 
p. 313.) Sir George Ratcliff, Knt. was one of the 
commissioners of inclosure in 1552. (See Nicholson, 
p. 330.) Of this family was the late Earl of Der- 
wentwater, who was beheaded in 1715. The Editor's 
folio MS. however, reads here, Sir Robert Harcliffe 
and Sir William. 

The Harcleys were am en*inent family in Cumber- 
land. (See Fuller, p. 224.) Whether this may be 
thought to be the same name, I do not determine. 

Ver. 204. Baron.'] This is apparently altered (not 
to say corrupted) from Hearone, in p. 4, ver. 114. 

Ver. 207. Ruby.'] This might be intended to cele- 
brate one of the ancient possessors of Raby Csstle, 
in the county of Durham. Yet it is written Reh- 
bye, in the fol. MS. and looks like a corruption of 
Rugby or Rokeby, an eminent family in Yorkshire, 
See p. 4, p. 9. It will not be wondered that the 
Percies should be thought to bring followers out of 
that county, where they themselves were originally 
seated, and had always such extensive property and 
influence. 

Ver. 215. Murray.] So the Scottish copy. In 
the com. edit it is Carrel or Currel ; and Morrell in 
the fol. MS. 

Ver. 217. Murray.] So the 8cot edit — The com- 
mon copies read Murrel. The fol. MS. gives the 
line in the following peculiar manner, 

" Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too.** 

Ver. 219. Lamb.] The folio MS. has. 

" Sir David LambweU, well esteemed," 

This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdale or 
Liddell, in the old copy, see pages 4-9. 



II. 
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



*nese fine moral stanzas were originally intended 
for a solemn funeral song, in a play of James Shir- 
ley's, entitled, " The contention of Ajax and Ulysses ;" 
no date, 8vo*— - Shirley flourished as a dramatic writer 
early in the reign of Charles I : but he outlived the 
Restoration. His death happened October 29, 1666, 
an. 72. 

This little poem was written long after many of 
those that follow, but is inserted here as a kind of 
dirge to the foregoing piece. It is said to have been 
a favourite song with K. Charles II. 



The glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no armour against fate : 
Death lays his icy hands on kings : 
Scepter and crown 
Must tumble down. 
And in toe dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill , 



10 



.•■c 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
They tame but one another still. 

Early or late 

They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they pale captives creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow. 
Then boast no more your mighty deeds : 



15 



^1 



Upon death's purple altar bow 

See where the victor victim bleeds l 

All heads must come 

To the cold tomb, 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust 



III. 
THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



The subject of this ballad is the great Northern 
Insurrection in the ISth year of Elisabeth, 1569 ; 
which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the seventh 
Earl of Northumberland. 

^ There had not long before been a secret negotia- 
tion entered into between some of the Scottish and 
English nobility, to bring about a marriage between 
Mary Queen of Scots, at that time a prisoner in 
England, and the Duke of Norfolk, a nobleman of 
excellent character, and firmly attached to the Pro- 
testant religion. This match was proposed to all 
the most considerable of the English nobility, and 
among the rest to the Earls of Northumberland and 
Westmoreland, two noblemen very powerful in the 
north. As it seemed to promise a speedy and safe 
conclusion of the troubles in Scotland, with many 
advantages to the crown of England, they all con- 
sented to it, provided it should prove agreeable to 
Queen Elizabeth. The Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's 
favourite) undertook to break the matter to her j 
but before he could find an opportunity, the affair 
had come to her ears by other hands, and she was 
thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of Norfolk, 
with several of his friends, was committed to the 
Tower, and summons were sent to the northern 
earls instantly to make their appearance at court. 
It is said that the Earl of Northumberland, who was 
a man of a mild and gentle nature, was deliberating 
with himself whether he should not obey the mes- 
sage, and rely upon the queen's candour and cle- 
mency, when he was forced into desperate measures 
by a sudden report at midnight, Nov. 14, that a 
party of his enemies were come to seize on his per- 
son*. The earl was then at his house at Tope I iffe 
in Yorkshire. When rising hastily out of bed, he 
withdrew to the Eari of Westmoreland, at Brance- 
peth. where the country came in to them, and pressed 
them to take arms in their own defence. They 
accordingly set up their standards, declaring their 
l ltuTit was to restore the ancient religion, to get the 
succession of the crown firmly settled, and to pre- 
vent the destruction of the ancient nobility, & c. 
Their common banner f (on which was displayed 
the cross, together with the five wounds of Christ,) 
was borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Norton, 
Esq. of Norton-conyers : who with his sons (among 
whom, Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, are 
expressly named by Camden), distinguished himself 
on this occasion. Having entered Durham, they 

• TbU circumstance is overlooked in the ballad. 
Betides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners of 
the two noblemen. 



tore the Bible, &c, and caused mass to be said 
there : they then marched on to Clifford Moor near 
Wetherbye, where they mustered their men. Their 
intention was to have proceeded on to York ; but, 
altering their minds, thev fell upon Barnard's castle, 
which Sir George Bowes held out against them for 
eleven days. The two earls, who spent their large 
estates in hospitality, and were extremely beloved 
on that account, were masters of little ready money, 
the Earl of Northumberland bringing with him 
only 8000 crowns, and the Earl of Westmoreland 
nothing at all for the subsistence of their forces, 
they were not able to march to London, as they had 
at first intended. In these circumstances, West- 
moreland began so visibly to despond, that many of 
his men slunk away, though Northumberland still 
kept up his resolution, and was master of the field 
till December 13, when the Earl of Sussex, accom- 
panied with Lord Hunsden and others, having 
marched out of York at the head of a large body of 
forces, and being followed by a still larger army 
under the command of Ambrose Dudley, Earl of 
Warwick, the insurgents retreated northward to- 
wards the borders, and their dismissing their fol- 
lowers, made their escape into Scotland. Though 
this insurrection had been suppressed with so little 
bloodshed, the Earl of Sussex and Sir George 
Bowes marshal of the army put vast numbers to 
death by martial law, without any regular trial. The 
former of these caused at Durham sixty-three con- 
stables to be hanged at once. And the latter made 
his boast, that, for sixty miles in length, and forty 
in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and Wether by, there 
was hardly a town or village wherein he had not 
executed some of the inhabitants. This exceeds 
the cruelties practised in the west after Monmouth's 
rebellion : but that was not the age of tenderness 
and humanity. 

Such is the account collected from Stow, Speed, 
Camden, Guthrie, Carte, and Rapin ; it agrees in 
most particulars with the following ballad, which 
was apparently the production of some northern 
minstrel, who was well affected to the two noble- 
men. It is here printed from two MS. copies, one 
of them in the editor's folio collection. They con- 
tained considerable variations, out of which such 
readings were chosen as seemed most poetical and 
consonant to history. 

Listen, lively lordings all, 

Lithe and listen unto mee, 
And I will sing of a noble earl*. 

The noblest earle in the north oountrie. 






?* 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



Earle Percy is into his garden gone, 5 I 

And after him walkes nis faire ladle* : j 

I heard a bird sine in mine eare, 
'i'hat I must either fight, or flee. 

Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord, 

That ever such harm should hap to thee : 10 

But goe to London to the court, 
And faire fall truth and honestie. 

Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay, 

Alas ! thy counsell suits not mee ; 
Mine enemies prevail so fast, 15 

That at the court I may not bee. 

goe to the court yet, good my lord. 
And take thy gallant men with thee ; 

If any dare to doe you wrong, 

Then your warrant they may bee* SO 

Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire, 

The court is full of subtiltie ; 
And if I goe to the court, lady. 

Never more I may thee see. 

Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes, S5 

And I myselfe will ride wi' thee : 
At court then for my dearest lord, 

His faithfull borrowe I will bee. 

Now nay, now nay, my lady deare ; 

For lever had I lose my fife, SO 

Than leave among my cruell foes 

My love in jeopardy and strife. 

But come thou hither my little foot-page, 

Come thou hither unto mee, 
To maister Norton thou must goe 95 

In all the haste that ever may bee. 

Commend me to that gentleman, 

And beare this letter here fro mee; 
And say that earnestly I praye, 

He will ryde in my companie. 40 

One while the little foot-page went, 

And another while he ran ; 
Untill he came to his journeys end 

The little foot-page never blan. 

When to that gentleman he came, 45 

Down he kneeled on his knee; 
And tooke the letter betwixt his hands, 

And lett the gentleman it see. 

And when the letter it was redd 

Affore that goodlye companye, 50 

1 wis, if you the truthe wold know, 

There was many a weeping eye. 

He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton, 
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee ; 

What doest thou counsell me, my sonne, 55 

Now that good erle's in jeopardy? 

Father, my counselled fair and free ; 

That erle he is a noble lord, 
And whatsoever to him you hight, 

I wold not have you breake your word. 60 



Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne, 
Thy counsell well it liketh mee, 

And if we speed and scape with life, 
Well advanced shalt thou bee. 

Come you hither, mine nine good sonnes, 
Gallant men I trowe you bee : 

How many of you, my children deare, 
Will stand by that good erle and me? 

Eight of them did answer make, 

Ei(rht of them spake hastilie, 
O father, till the dsye we dye 

Well stand by that good erle and thee. 



65 



70 



Gramercy now, my children deare, 

You snowe yourselves right bold and brave ; 
And wbethersoe'er I live or dye, 75 

A fathers blessing you shal have. 



But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton, 
That art mine eldest sonn and heire * 

Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast ; 
Whatever it bee, to mee declare. 



8C 



85 



90 



95 



• This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset Earl 
of Worcester. 



Father, you are an aged man. 

Your head is white, your bearde is gray; 
It were a shame at these your yeares 

For you to ryse in such a fray. 

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis, 
Thou never learnedst this of mee : 

W r hen thou wert yong and tender of age, 
Why did I make soe much of thee ? 

But, father, I will wend with you, 
Unarm'd and naked will I bee ; 

And he that strikes against the crowne. 
Ever an ill death may he dee. 

Then rose that reverend gentleman, 
And with him came a goodlye band 

To join with the brave Erie Percy, 
And all the flower o' Northumberland. 

With them the noble Nevill came, 
The erle of Westmorland was hee : 

At Wetherbye they mustred their host, 
Thirteen thousand mire to see. 

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, 
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye, 

And three Dogs with golden collars 
Were there sett out most royally* *. 



* Vcr. 108. Dun Bull Sec.) The supporters of the Nevilles 
Earls of Westmoreland were Two Balls Argent, (locally cul- 
lar'd gold, armed Or, Sec But I have not discovered the 
device mentioned in the ballad, among the badges, &c. given 
by that house. This however is certain, that, among 'hose 
of the Nevilles, Lord Abergavenny, (who were of the same 
family,) Is a dan cow with a golden collar ; and the Ne- 
villes of Chyte in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland branch) 
gave for their crest, in 1513, a dog's (greyhound's) heat! 
erased.— So that it is not improbable bat Charles Neville, the 
unhappy Earl of Westmoreland here mentioned, might on 
this occasion give the above device on hi* banner — After all, 
oar old minstrel's verses here may have undergone some 
corruption ; for, in another ballad in the same folio MS. and 
apparently written by the same hand, containing the sequel 
of this I#ord Westmoreland's history, his banner is thus de 
scribed, more conformable to his known bearings : _^, 
•' Set me up my faire Dun Bull, 

With GUden Hornet, hee bearet atttoe hye." 



100 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



73 



Erie Percy there bis ancyent spred, 105 

The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire * : 

The Nortons ancyent had the crosse, 
And the five wounds our Lord did beare. 

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, 
After them some spoyle to make : 110 

Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, 
And aye they vowed that knight to take. 

That baron he to his castle fled, 

To Barnard castle then fled bee. 
The uttermost walles were eathe to win, 115 

The earles bare wonne them presentlie. 

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke ; 

But thoughe they won them soon anone, 
Loog e'er they wan the innermost walles, 

For thev were out in rocke of stone. 120 

Then newes unto leeve London came 
In all the speede that ever might bee, 

And word is brought to our royall queene 
Of the rysing in the North countrie. 



Her grace she turned her round about, 
And like a royall queene shee swore f, 

I will ordayne tnem such a breakfast, 
As never was in the North before. 



125 



Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd, 
With horse and harneis faire to see ; 

She caused thirty thousand men be raised, 
To take the earles i' th' North countrie. 



ISO 



Wi' them the false Erie Warwick went, 
Th' Erie Sussex and the Lord Hunsden ; 

Untill they to Yorke castle came 
I wiss, they never stint ne blan. I 135 

Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland, 
Thy dun bull faine would we spye : 

And thou, the Erie o* Northumberland, 

Now rayse thy half moone up on bye. 140 

But the dun bulle is fled and gone. 
And the balfe moone vanished away : 

The Erles, though they were brave and bold, 
Against soe many could not stay. 

Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes, 145 
They doom'd to dye, alas I for ruth ! 

Thy reverend lockes thee could not save, 
Nor them their mire and blooming youthe. 

Wi' them full many a gallant wight 

They cruelly e bereav'd of lite : 150 

And many a childe made fatherlesse, 

And widowed many a tender wife. 



IV. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



This ballad may be considered as the sequel of 
the preceding. After the unfortunate Earl of Nor- 
thumberland had seen himself forsaken of his fol- 
lowers, he endeavoured to withdraw into Scotland, 
but falling into the hands of the thievish borderers, 
was stript and otherwise ill-treated by them. At 
length he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw, 
an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed : 
for Hector had engaged his honour to be true to 
him, and was under great obligations to this unhappy 
nobleman. But this faithless wretch betrayed his 
guest for a sum of money to Murray the Regent of 



• Ver. 106. Th* Halfe-Moone, Ac] The Silver Crescent 
is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family. 
It was probably brought home from some of the crusades 
against the Sarazens. In an ancient pedigree in verse, finely 
illuminated on a roll of vellum, and written in the reign of 
Henry VII, (in possession of the family,) we have this fabu- 
lous account given of its original. — The author begins with 
accounting for the name of Gernan or Algernon, often borne 
by the Perries; who, he says, were 

Gernons fyrst named Brutys blonde of Troy : 

Which valliantly fyghtynge in the land of Persd f Persia] 
At pointe terrible ayance the miscreants on nyght, 
An hevynly mystery was schewyd by in, old bookys re- 
he rse ; 
In hys schcld did schyne a Mane veryfying her lygbt, 
Wbych to all the oo*te gave a perfytte fyght, 
To vaynquys his euemys, and to deth them persue ; 
And therefore the Perses iPercies] the Cressant doth 
renew. 
In the dark ages no family was deemed considerable that 
did not derive its descent from the Trajan Brutus ; or that 
was not distinguished by prodigies and miracles. 

t This is quite in character : her majesty would sometimes 
•wear at her nobles, aa well as box their ears. 



Scotland, who sent him to the castle of Loughleven, 
then belonging to William Douglas. — All the writers 
of that time assure us, that Hector, who was hen 
before, fell shortly after into poverty, and became so 
infamous, that to take Hector's cloak, grew into a 
proverb to express a man who betrays his friend. 
See Camden, Carle^on, Holingshed, &c. 

Lord Northumberland continued in the castle of 
Lough-leven till the year 1572; when James 
Douglas Earl of Morton being elected Regent, he 
was given up to the Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and 
being carried to York suffered death. As Morton's 
party depended on Elizabeth for protection, an ele- 
gant historian thinks " it was scarce possible for 
them to refuse putting into her hands a person who 
had taken up arms against her. But as a sum of 
money was paid on that account, and shared be- 
tween Morton and his kinsman Douglas, the former 
of whom, during his exile in England, had been 
much indebted to Northumberland's friendship, the 
abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevitable 
destruction, was deemed an ungrateful and merce- 
nary act." Robertson's Hist. 

So far History coincides with this ballad, which 
was apparently written by some northern bard soon 
after the event. The interposal of the " Witch- 
Lady" (v. 53,) is probably his own invention : yet. 
even this hath some countenance from history ; for, 
about twenty-five years before, the Lady Jane 
Douglas, Lady Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus, 
and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, had 
suffered death for the pretended crime of witchcraft 



»r 



74 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS 



who, it is presumed, is the Witch-lady alluded to in 
Terse 133. 

The following is selected Hike the former) from 
two copies, which contained great variations ; one 
of them in the Editor's folio MS. In the other copy 
some of the stanzas at the beginning of this Ballad 
are nearly the same with what in that MS. are made 
Co begin another Ballad on the escape of the Earl of 
Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, and is 
feigned in the ballad to have undergone a great 
variety of adventures. 

How long shall fortune mile me nowe, 
And harrowe me with fear and dread? 

How long shall I in bale abide, 
In misery my life to lead? 

To mil from my bliss, alas the while ! 5 

It was my sore and heavye lott : 
And I must leave my native land, 

And I must live a man forgot. 

One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, 

A Scot he is much bound to mee : 10 

He dwelleth on the border side, 

To him 111 goe right privilie. 

Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine. 

With a heavy heart and wel away, 
Wnen he with all his gallant men 15 

On Bramham moor had lost the day. 

But when he to the Armstrongs came, 
They dealt with him all treacherouslye ; 

For they did strip that noble eerie : 
And ever an ill death may they dye. * 20 

False Hector to Earl Murray sent, 

To shew him where his guest did hide : 

Who sent him to the Lougn-leven, 
With William Douglas to abide. 

And when he to the Douglas came, $5 

He hatched him right courteouslie . 

Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle, 
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee. 

When he had in Lough-leven been 

Many a month and many a day : 30 

To the regent * the lord wardenf sent, 

That bannisht earle for to betray. 

He offered him great store of gold, 

And wrote a tetter (air to see : 
Saying, Good my lord, grant me my boon, 35 

And yield that banisht man to mee. 

Earle Percy at the supper sate 

With many a goodly gentleman : 
The wylie Douglas then bespake, 

And thus to flyte with him began : 40 

What makes you be so sad, my lord, 
And in your mind so sorrowfullye 1 

To-morrow a shootinge will bee held 
Among the lords of the North countrye. 



The butts are sett, the shooting's mads,] 45 

And there will be great royaltye : 
And I am sworne into my bille, 

Thither to bring my Lord Percye. 

Ill give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas, 
And here by my true faith, quoth hee, 50 

If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end 
I will ryde In thy compenye. 

And then bespake a lady mire, 

Mary & Douglas was her name : 
You shall byde here, good English lord, 55 

My brother is a traitorous man. 

He is a traitor stout and strong, 

As I tell you in privitie : 
For be hath tane liverance of the earle *, 

Into England nowe to liver thee. 60 

Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady. 

The regent is a noble lord : 
Ne for the gold in all England 

The Douglas wold not break his word* 

When the regent was a banisht man, €5 

With me he did feire welcome find • 
And whether weal or woe betide, 

I still shall find him true and kind. 

[truce. 
Betweene England and Scotland it wold breake 

And friends againe they wold never bee, 70 
If they ahold liver a banisht erle 

Was driven out of his own countrie, 

Alas ! alas ! my lord, she saves, 

Nowe mickle is their traitorie ; 
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes, 75 

And tell those English lords from thee, 

How that you cannot with him ryde,' 
Because you are in an ile of the sea f, 

Then ere my brother come againe 
To Edenborow castle t H© carry thee. 6" 

To the Lord Hume I will thee bring. 
He is well knowne a true Scots lord, 

And he will lose both land and life, 
Ere he with thee will break his word. 

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 85 

When I thinke on my own countrie, 

When I thinke on the heavye happe 
My friends have suffered there for mee. 

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 

And sore those wars my minde distresse ; 90 
Where many a widow lost her mate, • 

And many a child was fatherlesse. 

And now that I a banisht man 

Shold bring such evil happe with mee, 

To cause my faire and noble friends 95 

To be suspect of treacberie : 



• James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scot- 
land, November 14, 157*. 
t Of one of the English marches. Lord Honfdcn. 



• Of the Earl of Morton, the Recent. 
t i. e. Lake of Leven, which hath communication witL 
the sea. 
J At that time in the hands of the opposite faction. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



73 



This rives my heart with double woe ; 

And lever had I dye this day, 
Than thinke a Douglas can be false, 

Or ever he will his guest betray. 100 

If youll give me no trust, my lord, 

Nor unto mee no credence yield ; 
Yet step one moment here aside, 

lie showe you all your foes in field. 

Lady, I never loved witchcraft, 105 

Never dealt in privy wyle ; 
But evermore held the high-waye 

Of truth and honour, free from guile. 

If youll not come yourselfe, my lorde, 

Vet send your cnamberlaine with mee ; 110 

Let me but speak three words with him, 
And he shall come again to thee. 

James Swynard with that lady went, 

She showed him through the weme of her ring 
How many English lords there were 115 

Waiting for his master and him. 

And who walkes yonder, my good lady, 
So royally e on yonder greene? 

yonder is the Lord Hunaden*: 

Alas ! hell doe you drie and teene. 120 

And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye, 
That walkes so proudly him beside T 

That is Sir William Druryt, shee sayd, 
A keene captaine bee is and tryde. 

How many miles is itt, madame, 125 

Betwixt yond English lords and meet 

Marry it is thrice fifty miles, 
To saile to them upon the sea. 

1 never was on English ground, 

Ne never sawe it with mine eye, 130 

But as my book it sheweth mee ; 
And through my ring I may deserve. 

My mother shee was a witch ladye, 

And of her skille she learned mee ; 
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven 135 

What they did in London citie. 

But who is yond, thou ladye faire, 
That looketh with sic an austerne face ? 

Yonder is Sir John Foster}, quoth shoe, 
Alas ! hell do ye sore disgrace. 140 

He pulled his hatt downe over his browe ; 

Tie wept j in his heart he was full of woe : 
And he is gone to hi? aoble lord, 

Those sorrow iul tidings him to show. 

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard, 145 
I may not believe that witch ladle ; 

The Douglasses were ever true, 
And they can ne'er prove false to mee. 



• The lord warden of the East marches. 

t Governor of Berwick. 

X Warden of the Middle-march. 



I have now in Lough-leven been 

The most part of these years three, 150 

Yett have I never had noe outrake, 

Ne no good games that I cold see. 

Therefore 111 to yond shooting wend, 

As to the Douglas 1 have hight : 
Betide me weale, betide me woe, 155 

He ne'er shall find my promise light. 

He writhe a gold ring from his finger, 

And gave itt to that gay ladle : 
Saves, It was all that 1 cold save, 

In Harley woods where I cold bee*. 160 

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord, 

Then farewell truth and honestie ; 
And farewell heart and farewell hand ; 

For never more I shall thee sve. 

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, 165 

And all the saylors were on borde ; 

Then William Douglas took to his boat, 
And with him went that noble lord. 

Then he cast up a silver wand, 

Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well ! 170 

The lady fett a sigh soe deep, 

And in a dead swoone down shee fell. 

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, 
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladle ; 

If ought befall yond lady but good, 175 

Then blamed for ever I shall bee. 

Come on, come on, my lord, he saves ; 

Come on come on, and let her bee : 
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven 

For to cheere that gay ladie. 180 

If youll not turns yourself, my lord, 
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ; 

We will but comfort that faire lady, 
And wee will return to you againe. 

Come on, come on, my lord, he saves ; 185 

Come on, come on, and let her bee : 

My sister is.craftye, and wold beguile 
A thousand such as you and mee. 

When they had sayledf fifty myle, 

Now fifty mile upon the sea ; 190 

Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas, 

When they ahold that shooting see. 

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine. 
And that by thee and thy lord is seen : 

Yqu may hap to thinke itt soone enough, 195 
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween. 

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe, 
He thought, his lord then was betray 'd ; 

And he is to Erie Percy againe, 
To tell him what the Douglas sayd. f 00 



He. Where I was. An ancient Idiom. 

t There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and 
the »ea: bnt a baUad-maker is not obliged to understand ge- 
ography. 



r 



MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ; 

Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle, 
He did it hut to prove thy heart, 

To aee if he cold make it quail. 

When they jiad other fifty sayld, f 05 

Other fifty mile upon the sea, 
Lord Percy called to Douglas bimselfe, 

Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee ? 

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord, 
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea : 210 

Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe, 
That you may pricke her while she'll away. 

What needeth this, Douglas 1 he sayth ; 
What needest thou to flyte with mee 1 



For I was counted a horseman good 
Before that ever I mett with thee. 

A false Hector hath my horse, 

Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie : 
A false Armstrong hath my spurres, 

And all die geere belongs to mee. 

When they had sayled other fifty mile, 
Other fifty mile upon the sea ; 

They landed low by Berwicke side, 
A deputed ' laird ' landed Lord Percye. 

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye, 
It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight : 

Thus they betrayed that noble earle, 
Who erer was a gallant wight. 



*<* 



ttf) 



«5 



V. 



MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



This excellent philosophical song appears to have 
been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted 
by Ben Jonson in his play of " Every Man out of 
his Humour," first acted in 1599, act 1. so. 1. where 
an impatient person says, 

" I am no such pil'd cynique to believe 
That beggery is the oneiy happinesse, 
Or, with a number of these patient fooles. 
To sing, ' My minde to me a kingdome is,' 
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode.*' 

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Musio 
book, entitled, " Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of 
sadnes and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts : 
flee By William Byrd, one of the Gent, of the 
Queenes Majesties honorable ChappelL — Printed by 
Thomas East, flee." 4to. no date : but Ames in his 
Typog. has mentioned another edit, of the same 
book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later 
than this. 

Some improvements, and an additional stanza (sc 
the 5th.) were had from two other ancient copies ; 
one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, 
thus inscribed, " A sweet and pleasant sonet, 
in titled, ' My Minde to me a Kingdom it.' To the 
tune of In Crete, flee." 

Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by 
Byrd separate from the rest : they are here given in 
what seemed the most natural order. 

My minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse, 

That God or Nature hath assignde : 
Though much I want, that most would have, 5 
Yet still my mind forbids to crave. 

Content I live, this is my stay ; 

I seek no more than may suffice : 
I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 

Look what I lack my mind supplies. 10 

Loe ! thus I triumph nke a king, 
Content with that my mind doth bring. 



15 



20 



I see how plentie surfets oft, 

And hastie clymbers soonest fall : 
I see that such as sit aloft 

Mishap doth threaten most of all : 
These get with toile, and keep with feare : 
Such cares my mind could never beare. 

No princely pompe, nor welthie store, 

No force to winne the victorie, 
No wylie wit to salve a sore, 

No shape to winne a lovers eye ; 
To none of these I yeeld as thrall. 
For why my mind despiseth aU. 

Some have too much, yet still they crave, 

I little have, yet seek no more : 
They are but poore, tho much they have ; 

And I am rich with little store : 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They facke, I lend ; they pine, 1 live. SO 



I laugh not at anothers losse, 
I grudge not at anothers gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse, 
I brooke that is anothers bane : 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 



25 



55 



I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw ; 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortunes fatall law : 
My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright or force of lore. 

I wish but what I have at will ; 

1 wander not to seeke for more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hill j 

In greatest stonnes I sitte on shore, 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe 



10 



' Ter. SS4, foL MS. reads land, and hat not tht fOlowiat 
•Unu. ^ 



THE PATIENT C0UNTE8S. 



77 



I kisse not where I wish to kill ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate . 
I breake no sleep to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mighties gate ; 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much* 

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath ; 

Extreames are counted worst of all : 
The golden meane betwixt them both 

Doth surest s% and fears no mil : 



50 



55 



This is my choyce, for why I fade, 
No wealth is like a quiet minde. 



60 



My welth is health, and perfect owe ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence i 
I never seeke by brybes to please, 

Nor by desert to give offence : 
Thus do I live, thus will I die ; 
Would all did so as well as I ! 



65 



VI. 
THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



The subject of this tale is taken from that enter- 
taining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled " Uxor Mtu- 
^•7<zfioc. sive Conjugium : " which been agreeably 
modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little 
miscellaneous publication, entitled " Moralities, &c, 
by Sir Harry Beaumont,'' 1759, 6Yo. peg. 43. 

The following stanzas are extracted from an 
ancient poem entitled " Albion's England," written 
by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of 
Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are 
now equally forgotten. The reader will find some 
account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 34. 

The following stanzas are printed from the author's 
improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to ; 
the third impression of which appeared so early as 
1593, in bl. let. 4to*— The edition in 1603 is in 
thirteen books ; and so it is reprinted in 1613, 4to ; 
yet in 1606 was published " A Continuance of 
Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 
4to. : " this contains books xiv. xv. xvi. In Ames's 
Typography is preserved the memory of another 
publication of tnis writer's, entitled, " Warner's 
Poetry," printed in 1580, 13mo, and reprinted in 
1603. There is also extant, under th» name of 
Warner, " Syrinx, or seven fold Hist, pleasant and 
profitable, comical, and tragical." 4to. 

It is proper to premise that the following lines 
were not written by the author in Stanzas, but in 
long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables : which the 
narrowness of our page made it here necessary to 
subdivide. - 

Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame. 

But jelousie is hell ; 
Some wives by patience have reduc'd 

111 husbands to live well : 
As did the ladie of an earle, 5 

Of whom I now shall tell. 



An earle 'there was' had wedded, lovM ; 

Was lovM, and lived long 
Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet 

At last he did her wrong. 

Once hunted he untill the chace, 

Long fasting, and the heat 
Did house him in a peakish graunge ~ 

Within a forest great. 



10 



Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place 15 

And persons might affords) 
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke 

Were set him on the horde. 

A cushion made of lists, a stoola 

Halfe backed with a hoope 30 

Were brought him, and he adtteth down 

Besides a sorry coupe. 

The poore old couple wisht their bread 
Were wheat, their whig were perry, 

Their bacon beefs, their milke and curds 35 

Were creame, to make him merry. 

Mean while (in russet neatly clad. 

With linen white as swanne, 
Herselfe more white, save rosie where. 

The ruddy colour ranne : 90 

Whome naked nature, not the aydes; 

Of arte made to excell) 
The good man's daughter sturres to see 

That all were feat and well ; 
The earle did marke her, and admire . 35 

Such beautie there to dwell. 

Yet fals he to their homely five, - « " 

And held him at a feast : 
But as his hunger slaked, so \ 

An amorous heat increast. 40 

When this repast was past, and thanks, 

And welcome too ; he sayd 
Unto his host and hostesse, in 

The hearing of the mayd : 

Yee know, quotji he, that I am lord * 45 

Of this, and many townes ! 
I also know that you be poore, 

And I can spare you pownes* 

Soe will I, so yee will consent, 

That yonder lasse and I 50 

May bargain© for her love ; at least, 

Doe give me leave to trye. 
Who needs to know it 1 nay who dares 

Into my doings pry ? 



7B 



THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



First they mislike, yet at the length 55 

For lucre were misled ; 
And then the gamesome earle did wowe 

The damsell for his bed. 

He took her in his armes, as yet 

So coyish to be kist, 60 

As mayds that know themselves belov'd, 

And yieldingly resist. 

In few, his offers were so large 

She lastly did consent ; 
With whom he lodged all that nigh "• tf 

And early home he went. 

He tooke occasion oftentimes 

In such a sort to hunt. 
Whom when his lady often mist, 

Contrary to his wont, 

And lastly was informed of 

His amorous haunt elsewhere , * 
It greev'd her not a little, though 

She seem'd it well to bene. 

And thus she reasons with herselfe, 1 1 

Some fault perhaps in me ; 
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth • 

Alas I what may it be 1 

How may I winne him to myself 1 

He is a man, and men 80 

Have imperfections ; it behooves 

Me pardon nature then. 

To checke him were to make him cheese* 

Although hee now were chaste * 
A man controuled of his wife 85 

To her makes lesser haste 

If duty then, or daliance mav 

Prevayle to alter him ; 
I will be dutifull, and make 

My selfe for daliance trim. 90 

So was she, and so lovingly 

Did entertaine her lord, 
As fairer, or more faultles none 

Could be for bed or bord. 

Vet still he loves his leiman, and 95 

Did still pursue that game, 
Suspecting nothing less, than that 

llis lady knew the same : 
Wherefore to make him know she knew, 

She this devise did frame : 100 

When long she had been wrong*d, and sought 

The foresayd meanes in vaine, 
She rideth to the simple graunge 

But with a slender traine. 

She lighteth, entreth, greets them well 'OS 

And then did looke about her : 
The guiltie houshold knowing her, 

Did wish themselves without her ; 
Yet, for she looked merily, 

The lesse they did misdoubt her. 110 

* To check Is a tern in falconry, applied wheo a hawk 
«top» and tarns away from his proper pursuit : to check also 

«i«nifles to reurove or chide. 

ten Ma. 



It i* in thia verse used in both 



When she had seen the beauteous 

(Then blushing fairnes fairer) 
Such beauty made the countesse hold 

Them both excus'd the rather. 

Who would not bite at such a bait ? 115 

Thought she : and who (though loth) 

So poore a wench, but gold might tempt t 
Sweet errors lead them both. 

8carse one in twenty that had bragg'd 

Of proffer'd gold denied, ISO 

Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, 
But, Cenne to one, had lied. 



Thus thought she : and she thus declares 
Her cause of coming thether ; 

My lord, oft hunting in these partes, 
Through travel, night or wether, 



125 



Hath often lodged in your house ; 

I thanke you for the same ; . 
For why ? it doth him jolly ease 

To lie so neare bis game. 190 

But, for you have not furniture 

Beseeming such a guest, 
I bring his owne, ana come myselfe 

To see his lodging drest 

With that two sumpters were discharged, 155 

In which were hangings brave, 
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, 

And al such turn should have. 

■ 

When all was handsomly disposM, 

She prayes them to have care 140 

That nothing hap in their default. 

That might his health impair : 

And, damsell, quoth shee, for it seems 

This houshold is but three, 
And for thy parents age, that this 145 

Shall chiefely rest on thee ; 

Do me that good, else would to God 

He hither come no more. 
So tooke she horse, and ere she went 

Bestowed gould good store. 150 

Full little thought the countie that 

His countesse bad done so ; 
Who now return'd from far affaires 

Did to his sweet-heart go. 

No sooner sat he foote within 155 

The late deformed cote, 
But that the formall change of things 

His wondering eies did note. 

But when he knew those goods to be 

His propor goods ; though late, 160 

Scarce taking leave, he home returnes 
The matter to debate. 

The countesse was a-bed, and he 

With her his lodging tooke ; 
Sir, welcome home (quoth shee) ; this night *46 

For you I did not looke. 



D0W8ABELL. 



79 



Then did he question her of such 

His stuff* bestowed soe. 
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did 

Yonr love and lodging knowe : 

Your We to be a proper wench, 
Your lodging nothing lease ; 

I held it for your health, the house 
More decently to dresse. 

Well wot I, notwithstanding her, 
Your lordship loveth me : 

And greater hope to hold you such 
By quiet, then brawles, ' you ' see. 



170 



175 



Then for my duty, your delight, 

And to retaine your favour t ISO 

All done I did, and patiently 

Expect your wonted Tiaviour. 

Her patience, witte and answer wrought * 

His gentle teares to fall : 
When (kissing her a score of times) 185 

Amend, sweet wife, I shall : 
He said, and did it : * so each wife 

Her husband may' recall. 



VII. 



DOWSABELL. 



Tub following stanzas were written by Michael 
Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth, James I, and Charles I 9 . They 
are inserted in one of his pastorals, the first edition 
of which bears this whimsical title. " Idea. The 
Shepheards Garland, fashioned in nine Eglogs." 
Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 
1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's 
name at length " To the noble and valorous gentle- 
man Master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very re- 
markable that when Drayton reprinted them in the 
first folio edit of his works, 1619, he had given 
those ecologues so thorough a revise!, that there i» 
hardly a line to be found the same as in the old 
edition. This poem had received the fewest cor- 
rections, and therefore is chiefly given from die 
ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of 
his shepherds : 

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye, 
And thou shalt beare, with mirth and mickle glee, 

A pretie tale, which when I was a boy, 
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me. 

The author has professedly imitated the style and 
metre of some of the old metrical romances, par- 
ticularly that of Sir Isenbrast (alluded to in v. 3), 
as the reader may judge from the following spe- 
cimen: 

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c 

Ye shall well beare of a knight, 
That was in wane lull wyght 

And doughtye of his dede : 
His name was Syr Isenbrss, 10 

Man nobler then he was 

Lyved none with breade. 
He was lyvely, large, and longe, 
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge, 

That mygbtie was to se : 15 

He was a hardye man, and hye, 
All men hym loved that bym se, 

For a gentyll knight was he : 
Harpers loved him in hall, 
Witt other minstrells all, 20 

For he gave them golde and fee. &C, 



IL 



• He was born In IBM, and died in 1631, Blof. Brit. 
f As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 0. 



This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 
4to, by William Copland } no date. In the Cotton 
Library (Calig. A. 8.) is a MS. copy of the same 
romance, containing the greatest variations. They 
are probably two different translations of some French 
original. 

Fa r re in the countrey of Arden, 
There won'd a knight, bight Cas&emen, 

As bolde as Isenbras : 
Fell was he, and eger bent, 
In battell and in tournament, 5 

As was the good Sir Topas. 

He had, as antique stories tell, 
A daughter cleaned Dowsabel, 

A mayden fayre and free : 
And for she was her fathers heire, 10 

Full well she was y-cond the leyre 

Of mickle courtesie. 

. The silke well couth she twist and twine, 
And make the fine march-pine. 

And with the needle werke : 15 

And she couth helpethe priest to say 
His mattins on a holy-day, 
And sing a psalme in kirke. 

She ware a frock of frolicke greene/ 

Might well beseeme a mayden qteene,~ tO 

Which seemly was to see ; 
A hood to that so neat and fine, 
In colour like the colombine, 

Y-wrought full featously. 

Her features all as fresh above, t5 

As is the grasse that growes by Dove ; 

And lyth as lasse of Kent. 
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, 
As white as snow on Peakish Hull, 

Or Bwanne that swims in Trent. , 30 



This mayden in a morne betime 
Went fortn, when May was in her 

To get sweete cety wall, 
The honey-suckle, the harlocke, 
The lilly and the lady smocke, 

To deck her summer hall. 



80 



THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. 



Thus, as she wandred here and there, 
Y-picking of the bloomed breere, 

She chanced to eapie 
A shepbeard sitting on a bancke 
Like cnanteclere he crowed cranke, 

And pip'd full merrilie. 

He lear'd his aheepe as he him list, 
When he would whistle in his fist, 

To feede about him round ; 
Whilst he full many a carroll sung, 
Untill the fields ana medowes rung, 

And all the woods did sound, 

In favour this same shepheards swayne 
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne*, 

Which helde prowd kings in awe : 
But meeke he was as a lamb mought be ; 
An innocent of ill as hef 

Whom his lewd brother slaw. 

The ahepheard ware a sbeepe-gray cloke, 
Which was of the finest loke, 

That could be cut with sbeere : 
His mittens were of bausons alrinne, 
His cockers were of cordiwin, 

His hood of meniveere. 

His aule and linsell in a thong. 
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, 

His breech of coyntrie blewe : 
Full crispe and curled were his lockes, 
His browes as white as Albion rocks : 

So like a lorer true. 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



And pyping still he spent the day. 
So merry as the popineay ; 

Which liked Dowsabel : 
That would she ought, or would she nought, 70 
This lad would never from her thought; 

She in love-longing felL 



At length she tucked up her frocke, 
White as a lilly was her smocke. 

She drew the ahepheard nye ; 
But then the ahepheard pyp'd a good, 
That all his aheepe forsooke their foode, 

To heare his melodye. 



75 



Thy aheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane, 

That have a jolly shepheards swayne, 80 

The which can pipe so well : 
Yea but, savth he, their ahepheard may, 
If pyping thus he pine away 

In love of DowsabeL 

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe, 85 

Quoth she ; looke thou unto thy aheepe. 

Lest they should hap to stray, 
Quoth he, So I had done full well, 
Had I not seen fayre Dowaabetl 

Come forth to gather maye. 90 

With that she gan to vaile her head, 
Her cheeks were like the roses red, 

But not a word she sayd : 
With that the ahepheard gan to frowne, 
He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 95 

And on the ground him layd. 

Sayth ahe, I may not stay till night, 
And leave my summer-hall undight, 

And all for long of thee. 
My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foulde 100 

8hall neither aheepe nor ahepheard hould, 

Except thou favour mee. 

Sayth ahe, Yet lever were I dead, 
Then I should lose my mayden-head, 

And all for love of men. 105 

Savth he, Yet are you too unkind. 
If in your heart you cannot find* 

To love us now and then. 

And I to thee will be as lrinde 

As Colin was to Rosalinda, 110 

Of curtesie the flower. 
Then will I be as true, quoth she, 
As ever mayden yet might be 

Unto her paramour. 

With that she bent her snow-white knee, 115 
Downe by the ahepheard kneeled ahee, 

And him she sweetely kist : 
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy, 
Quoth he, Therms never shepheards boy 

That ever was so blist. 120 



VIII. 



THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. 



From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, entitled The 
Lover's Progress, act iii. sc 1. 

Anisu, fond love, farewell yon wanton powers ; 

I am free again. 
Thou dull disease ofbloud and idle hours, 

Bewitching pain, 

• Alluding to " Tambnrlaine the Great, or the Scythian 
Sh*pb«4rd/ r U0O, 8vo, so old ranting play aacribed to Mar- 



Fly to fools, that sigh away their time : 5 

My nobler love to heaven doth climb, 
And there behold beauty still young, 

That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy. 
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung, 

And honoured by eternity and joy : 10 

There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire, 
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher 



_ 



CUPIDS PASTIME. 



•1 



IX. 
ULYSSES AND THE SYREN 



—affords a pretty poetical contest between Plea- 
sure and Honour. It is found at the end of " Hy- 
men's Triumph : a pastoral tragicomedie," written 
by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to, 
1623*.— Daniel, who was a contemporary of 
Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to 
Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 
1619. Anne Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and 
Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has 
inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length pic- 
ture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in 
Cumberland. 

'J*his little poem is the rather selected for a speci- 
men of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in 
the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12 mo. 1718. 

Syren. 

Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come, 

Possesse these shores with me, 
Tne windes and seas are troublesome, 

And here we may be free. 
Here may we sit and view their toyle, 5 

That travaile in the deepe, 
Enjoy the day in mirth the while, 

And spend the night in sleepe. 



Ulysses. 

Fairs nymph, if fame or honour were 

To be attain 'd with ease, 
rhen would I come and rest with thee, 

And leave such toiles as these : 
But here it dwels, and here must I 

With danger seek it forth ; 
To spend the time luxuriously 

Becomes not men of worth. 

Syren. 

Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd 

With that unreall name : 
This honour is a thing conceiv'd. 

And rests on others' fame. 
Begotten only to molest 

Our peace, and to beguile 
(The best thing of our fife) our zest 

And give us up to toyle I 

Ulysses. 

Delicious nymph, suppose there' were 

Nor honor, nor report, 
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare 

The time in idle sport : 



10 



15 



to 



For toyle doth give a better touch 

To make us teele our joy ; 
And ease findes tediousnes, as much 

As labour yeelds annoy. 

Syren. 

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore, 

Whereto tendes all your toyle ; 
Which you forego to make it more, 

And perish oft the while. 
Who may disport them direr sly, 

Find never tedious day ; 
And ease may have variety, 

As well as action may. 

Ulysses. 

But natures of the noblest frame 

These toyles and dangers please ; 
And they take comfort in the same, 

As much as you in ease : 
And with the thought of actions past 

Are recreated still : 
When pleasure leaves a touch at last 

To shew that it was ill. 

Syren, 

That doth opinion only cause, 

That's out of custom bred ; 
Which makes us many other laws 

Than ever nature did. 
No widdowes waile for our delights. 

Our sports are without blood ; 
The world we see by warlike wights 

Receives more hurt than good. 

Ulysses. 

But vet the state of things require 

These motions of unrest, 
And these great spirits of high desire 

Seem borne to turne them best : 
To purge the mischiefes, that increase 

And all good order mar : 
For oft we see a wicked peace 

To be well chang'd for war. 

Syren. 



» 



55 



«0 



45 



50 



*5 



60 



Well, well, Ulysses, then I 

I shall not have thee here ; 
And therefore I will come to thee. 

And take my fortune there. 
I most be wonne that cannot win, 

Yet lost were I not wonne : 
For beauty hath created bin 

T undoo or be undone. 



£5 



70 



X. 

CUPID'S PASTIME. 



Too beautiful poem, which posseses a classical 
elegance hardly to be expected in the age of 
James I., is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's 



• In this edition it U collated with • copy printed at the 
nd of his " Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607/' lftmo. 



Poems , ore. 1621. It is also found in a later mis- 
cellany, entitled, " Le Prince d* Amour," 1660, 6vo. 
Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred 
to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state, 
who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Queen 
of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, 






*t 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 



were written by himself, by bis brother [Walter], 
who was a soldier in the wan of the Low Countries, 
and by some dear friends " anonymoi." Among 
them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the 
Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, 
and other wits of those times. 

In the fourth toI. of Dryden's Miscellanies, this 
poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq. ; but 
erroneously, being probably written before ne was 
born. One edit, of Davison's book was published 
in 1608. .Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 
1642-3. Ath. Ox. II. 23. 

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain, 
That went to seek his straying sheep, 

Within a thicket on a plain 
Espied a dainty nymph asleep. 

Her golden hair o'erspred her face ; 5 

Her careless arms abroad were cast ; 

Her quiver had her pillows place ; 
Her breast lay bare to every blast. 

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill ; 

Nought durst he do ; nought durst he say ; 10 
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will, 

Did guide the god of love that way. 



The crafty boy that sees her sleep, 
Whom if she wak'd he durst not 

Behind her closely seeks to creep ; 
Before her nap should ended bee. 



There come, he steals her shafts away, 
And puts his own into their place ; 

Nor dares he any longer stay, 
But, ere she wakes, hies thence space. 

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes, 
And spies the shepherd standing by : 

Her bended bow m baste she takes, 
And at the simple swain lets flye. 



15 



to 



Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, f 5 
That to the ground he tell with pain : 

Yet up again forthwith he start, 
Ana to the nymph he ran amain. 

Amazed to see so strange a sight, 

She shot, and shot, but all in vain ; 50 

The more his wounds, the more his might, 

Love yielded strength amidst his pain. 

Her angry eyes were great with tears, 

She blames her hand, she blames her skill ; 

The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35 

And try them on herself she will. 

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft, 
Each little touch will pierce thy heart : 

Alas ! thou know'st not Cupids craft ; 

Revenge is joy ; the end is smart. 40 

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare; 

Her hands were glov'd but next to hand 
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare, 

That made the shepherd senseless stand. 

That breast she pierc'd ; and through that breast 45 

Love found an entry to her heart ; 
At feeling of this new-come guest, 

Lord 1 how this gentle nymph did start 1 



She runs not now ; she shoots no more ; 

Away she throws both shaft and bow : 
She seeks for what she shunn'd before, 

8he thinks the shepherds haste too slow. 

Though mountains meet not, lovers may : 

What other lovers do, did they : 
The sod of love sate on a tree, 
And laught that pleasant sight to see. 



50 



55 



XL 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 



This little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry 
Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton in 1639, JEU 
7£. It is printed from a little collection of 
his pieces, entitled, " Reliquim Wottonianse," 
1651, ltmo.j compared with one or two other 
copies. 

How happy is he born or taught, 

That serveth not anothers will ; 
Whose armour is bis honest thought, 

And simple truth his highest skill : 



Whose passions not his masters are , 
Whose soul is still prepared for death; 

Not ty'd unto the world with care 
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath : 



Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 

Whose conscience is his strong retreat : 
Whose state can neither batterers feed, 

Nor mine make oppressors great : 

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise. 
Or vice : Who never un4erstood 

How deepest wounds are given with praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 

And entertains the harmless day 
With a well-chosen book or friend. 

This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall ; 

Lord of hiroselfe, though not of lands; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 



10 



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GILDEROY. 



XII. 
GILDEROY 



—-was a famous robber, who lived about the 
middle of the last century, if we may credit the 
histories and story-books of highwaymen, which 
relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing 
Cardinal Kichheu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these 
stories have probably no other authority, than the 
records of Grub-street : At least die " Gilderoy," 
who is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to 
have lived in an earlier age ; for, in Thomson's 
Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1735, 8vo, is a copy of 
this ballad, which, though corrupt and interpolated, 
contains some lines that appear to be of genuine 
antiquity: in these he is represented as con- 
temporary with Mary Queen of Scots : ex. gr. 

" The Queen of Scots possessed nought, 
That my love let me want : 
Forcow and ew to me he brought, 
And ein whan they were scant." 

These lines perhaps might safely have been 
inserted among the following stanzas, which are 
given from a written copy, that appears to have 
received some modem corrections. Indeed the 
common popular ballad contained some indecent 
that required the pruning-hook. 



Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, 

Had roses tall his shoone, 
His stockings were of silken soy, 

Wi' garters hanging doune : 
It was, I weene, a comelie sight, 

To see sae trim a boy ; 
He was my jo and hearts delight, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Oh ! sike twa charming een he had, 

A breath as sweet as rose, 
He never ware a Highland plaid, 

But costly silken clothes ; 
He gain'd the lure of ladies gay, 

Nane eh* tall him was coy : 
Ah! waeismee! I mourn the day 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy and I were born, 

Baith in one toon together, 
We scant were seven years beforn, 

We gun to luve each other ; 
Our dadies and our mammies thay, 

Were filTd wi' mickle joy, 
To think upon the bridal day, 

Twixt me and Gilderoy. 

For Gilderoy that luve of mine, 

Gude faith, I freely bought 
A wedding Bark of holland fine, 

Wi' silken flowers wrought : 
And he jried me a wedding ring, 

Which I receiv'd wi' joy, 
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing, 

Like me and Gilderoy. 



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Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime, 

Till we were baith sixteen, 
And aft we past the langaome time. 

Among the leaves sae green ; 
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair, 

And sweetly kiss and toy, 
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Oh ! that be still had been content, 

Wi' me to lead his life ; 
But, ah ! his manfV heart was bent, 

To stir in feates of strife : 
And he in many a venturous deed, 

His courage bauld wad try ; 
And now this gars mine heart to bleed, 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

And when of me his leave he tuik, 

The tears they wat mine ee, 
I gave tall him a parting luik, 

" My benison gang wi' thee ; 
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart 

For gane is all my joy ; 
My heart is rent sitn we maun part, 

My handsome Gilderoy." 

My Gilderoy baith far and near, 

Was fear'd in every toun, 
And bauldly bare away the gear, 

Of many a lawland loun : 
Nane eir durst meet him man to man, 

He was sae brave a boy ; 
At length wi' numbers he was tane, 

My winsome Gilderoy. 

Wse worth the loun that made the laws, 

To hang a man for gear, 
To 'reave of live for ox or ass, 

For sheep, or horse, or mare : 
Had not their laws been made sae strick, 

I neir had lost my joy, 
Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek, 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

GifT Gilderoy bad done amisse, 

He mought hae banisht been ; 
Ah! what sair cruelty is this, 

To hang sike handsome men : 
To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 

Sae sweet and fair a boy ; 
Nae lady had sae white a hand. 

As thee my Gilderoy. 

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were, 

Thev bound him mickle strong. 
Toll fJdenburrow they led him thair, 

And on a gallows hung : 
They hung him high aboon the rest, 

He was sae trim a boy ; 
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

o t 



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75 



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85 



f-rr- 



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M 



THE WITCH OP WOXLY. 



Thus having yielded up his breath, 

I bare his corpse away, 
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death, 

I washt his comelye day ; 



90 



** 



And siker in a grave sae deep, 
I laid the dear-lued boy, 

And now for evir maun I weep 
My winsome Gilderoy. 



95 



• • 



XITL 
WINIFREDA 



This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject 
too much neglected by the libertine muses, was, I 
believe, first printed in a volume of " Miscellaneous 
Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David] 
Lewis, 1? 26, 8vo." 

It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a 
translation " from the ancient British language." 

Away ; let nought to love displeasing, 

My Winifreds, move your care ; 
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, 

Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

* 

What tho' no grants of royal donors 5 

With pompous titles grace our blood ; 

Well shine in more substantial honors, 
And to be noble well be good. 



Our name, while virtue thus we tender, 
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke : 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
How they respect such little folk. 



10 



What though from fortune's lavish bounty 

No mighty treasures we possess ; 
Well find within our pittance plenty, 15 

And be content without excess. 

Still shall each returning s eas on * 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that's the only life to live. SO 

Through youth and age in love excelling, 

We'll hand in hand together tread ; 
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling. 

And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 85 

While round my knees they fondly clung ; 

To see them look their mothers features, 
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue. 

And when with envy time transported, 

Shall think to rob us of our joys, 30 

You'll in your girls again be courted, 
And I'll go a wooing in my boys. 



XIV. 



THE WITCH OF WOKEY 



— was published in a small collection of poems, 
entitled, "Euthemia, or the Power of Harmony; &c." 
1756, written, in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Har- 
rington, ef Bath, who never allowed them to be pub- 
lished, and withheld his name till it could no longer 
be concealed. The following copy was furnished by 
the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations end 
corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty 
to propose, and for which the Author's indulgence 
was intreated. In this edition it was intended to re- 
print the Author's own original copy ; but, as that 
may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Collection, 
vol, L 1783, p. 161, it was thought the reader of 
taste would wish to have the variations preserved j 
they are therefore still retained here, which it is 
hoped the worthy author will excuse with his wonted 
liberality. 

Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, 
which has given birth to as many wild fanciful sto- 
ries as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Through a very 
narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the 
roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the 
thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the 
?? *h r* torches. It goes winding a great way under 



ground, is crost by a stream of very cold water, ana 
is all horrid with broken pieces of rock : many of 
these are evident petrifactions : which, on account of 
their singular forms, have given rise to the fables al- 
luded to in this poem. 

In aunciente days tradition showes 
A base and wicked elfe arose, 

The Witch of Wokey hight : 
Oft have I heard the fearfuU tale 
From Sue, and Roger of the vale, 5 

On some long winter's night. 

Deep in the dreary dismall cell, 
Which seem'd and was ycleped hell, 

This blear-eyed hag did hide : 
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 10 

She chose to form her guardian trayne. 

And kennel near her side. 



i 



Here screeching owls oft made their nest. 
While wolves its craggy sides possest, 

Night-howling thro' the rock : 
No wholesome herb could here be found ; 
8he blasted every plant around, 

And blister'd e*-ery flock. 



15 



BRYAN AND PEREENE. 



! 



Her haggard face was foull to see ; 
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee ; 

Her eyne of deadly leer, 
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's 21; 
She wreakM on all her wayward willy 

And marrM all goodly chear. 

AH in her prime, have poets sung, 
No gaudy youth, gallant and young, 

E er blest her longing armes ; 
And hence arose henspight to rex, 
And blast the youth of either sex, 

By dint of hellish charms. 

From Glaston came a lerned wight, 
Full bent to marr her fell despignt, 

And well he did, I ween : 
Sich mischief never had been known, 
And, since his mickle lerninge shown, 

Sich mischief ne'er has been. 

He chauntede out his godlie booke, 
He crost the water, blest thebrooke, 

Then — pater noster done,— 
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er: 
When lo ! where stood a hag before, 

Now stood a ghastly stone. 

Full well 'tis known adown the dale ; 
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, 



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And doubtfull may appear, 
I'm bold to say, there's never a one, 
That has not seen the witch in stone, 

With all her household gear. 

But tho' this lernede clerke did well ; 
With grieved heart, alas ! I tell, 

She left this curse behind : 
That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, 
Tho' sense and beauty both unite, 

Should find no leman kind. 

For lo ! even, as the fiend did say, 
The sex have found it to this day, 

That men are wondrous scant : 
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd, 
With all that's good and virtuous join'd, 

Yet hardly one gallant. 

Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ? 
They might as well, like her, be stone, 

As thus forsaken dwell. 
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ; 
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, 

And, oh ! revoke the spelL 

Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair : 
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care; 

I hear the gracious voice : 
Your sex shall soon be blest agen, 
We only wait to find sich men, 

As best deserve your choice. 



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XV. 
BRYAN AND PEREENE, 

4 WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, 



— is founded on a resi tact, mat nappenea in tne 
island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the 
present reign. The editor owes the following stansas 
to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger*, who was 
en eminent physician in that island when this tragi- 
cal incident happened, and died there much honoured 
and lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman 
the public are indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude, 
printed in the 4th vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany, 
p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sub- 
limest images in nature. The reader will pardon the 
insertion of the first stansa here, for the sake of 
rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given 
by the author: 

O 8olitude, romantic maid, 
Whether by nodding towers you tread, 
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, 
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, 
Or climb the Andes' clifted side, 
Or by the Nile's coy source abide, 
Or starting from your half-veer's sleep 
From Hecla view the thawing deep, 
Or at the purple dawn of day 
Tadmor's marble wastes survey, ore 

alluding to the account of Palmyra published by 

* Author of a poem on the "Culture of the Sagir-Cane," 
&c. paMisfaed by Meim. Wood and Dawkina. 



«ine late ingenious travellers, and the manner *n 
which they were struck at the first sight of those 
magnificerf ruins bv break of day*. 

The north-*** w*na aia orisKly blow, 

The ship was safely moorM; 
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow, 

And so leapt over-board. 

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, o 

His heart long held in thrall ; 
And whoso his impatience blames, 

I wot, ne'er lov d at all. " 

A long long year, one month and day, 

He dwell on English land, 
Nor onco in thought or deed would stray, 

Tho' ladies sought his hand. 

For Bryan he was tall and strong, 

Right blythsome roll'd his era! 
Sweet was bis voice whene'er he/sung. 

He scant had twenty seen. / 



10 



15 



But who the countless charms can draw, 
That grae'd his mistress true ; 

Such charms the old world seldom saw. 
Nor oft I ween the new. 



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• So in page 225, it should be, Tum'd her magic «*. 



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If 



86 



GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 



Her raven hair plays round her neck,1 

Like tendrils of the vine ; 
Her cheeks red dewy rose buds deck. 

Her eyes like diamonds shine. 

Soon as his well-known ship she spied, 

She cast her weeds away, 
And to the palmy shore she hied, 

All in her best array. 

In sea-green silk so neatly clad 

She there impatient stood ; 
The crew with wonder saw the lad 

Repell the foaming flood. 

Her hands a handkerchief display'd, 

Which he at parting gave ; 
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd, 

Ana manlier beat the wave. 

Her fair companions one and all, 
Rejoicing crowd the strand ; 



25 



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For now her lover swam in call, 

And almost touch 'd the land. 40 

Then through the white surf did she haste. 

To clasp her lovely swain ; 
When, ah ! a shark bit tlyough his waste : 

His heart's blood dy'd the main ! 

He shriek'd ! his half sprang from the ware, 45 

Streaming with purple gore, 
And soon it found a living grave, 

And ah ! was seen no more. 

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray. 

Fetch water from the spring : 50 

She falls, she swoons, she dies away, 
And soon her knell they ring. 

Now each May morning round her tomb, 

Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew. 
So may your lovers scape his doom, 55 

Her hapless fate scape you. 



XVI. 
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH. 



Although the English are remarkable for the num- 
ber and variety of their ancient ballads, and retain, 
perhaps, a greater fondness for these old simple 
rhapsodies of their ancestors than most other nations, 
they are not the only people who have distinguished 
themselves by compositions of this kind. The Span- 
iards have great multitudes of them, many of wnich 
are of the highest merit. They call them in their 
language Romances, and have collected them into 
volumes under the titles of El Romaneero, El Can- 
cionero 9 , ccc. Most of them relate to their conflicts 
with the Moors, and display a spirit of gallantry 
peculiar to that romantic people. But, of all the 
Spanish ballads, none exceed in poetical merit those 
inserted in a little Spanish " History of the Civil 
Wars of Granada," describing the dissensions which 
raged in that last seat of Moorish empire before it 
was conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps romance) 
a great number of heroic songs are inserted, and 
appealed to as authentic vouchers for the truth of 
facts. In reality, the prose narrative seems to be 
drawn up for no other end, but to introduce and 
illustrate those beautiful pieces. 

The Spanish editor pretends — how truly I know 
not — that they are translations from the Arabic or 
Morisco language. Indeed, from the plain un- 
adorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity 
of the language and sentiment, which runs through 
these poems, one would judge them to have been 
composed soon after the conquest of Granada above 
mentioned ; as the prose narrative in which they are 
inserted was published about a century after. It 
should seem, at least, that they were written before 
the Castilians had formed themselves so generally, 
as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan 
poets, or had imported from Italy that fondness for 
conceit and refinement, which has for near two cen- 
turies past so much infected the Spanish poetry, and 
rendered it so frequently affected and obscure. 

• i.«. The ballad-singer. 



As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, 
which very much resembles that of our old English 
bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly to 
accept the two following poems. They are given 
from a small collection of pieces of this kind, which 
the Editor some years ago translated for his itimmo 
ment, when he was studying the Spanish language. 
As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify 
the curious it is accompanied with the original. The 
metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads : 
it is of the most simple construction, and is still used 
by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, 
as we learn from Baretti's Travels. It runs in short 
stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourth 
alone correspond in their terminations ; and in these 
it is only required that the vowels should be alike j 
the consonants may be altogether different, as 



pone 
noble 



meten 
muere 



areos 



eata 

caflas muere gamo 

Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple har- 
monious flow, which atones for the imperfect nature 
of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to the 
ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in 
the following versions. The first of them is given 
from two different originals, both of which are printed 
in the Hist, de Lit Civilet Guerrat de Granada, Mad. 
1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending in aa, 
the other in ia. It is the former of these that is here 
reprinted. They both of them begin with the same 
line: 

Rio verde, rio verde*, 

which could not be translated faithfully: 

Verdant river, verdant river, 

would have given an affected stiffness to the verse ; 
the great merit of which is easy simplicity; and 
therefore a more simple epithet was adopted, though 
1 ess poetical or expressive. 

• Literally, Green river, green river, Rio Verde i* said 
to be the name of a river in Spain ; which ought to haw 
been attended to by the translator hrl he known It. 



if 



RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE. 



i 



- »- 



" Rio verde, rio verde, 

Quanto cuerpo en ti ae bafia 

De Christianos y de Moros 
Muertos por la dura espada I 

" Y tus ondas criatalinas 
De roxa sangre se esmaltan : 

Entre Moros y Christianos 
Muy gran batalla se trava. 

" Murieron Duques y Condes, 
Grandes sefiores de salva : 

Mario gente de valia 
De la nobleza de Eftpana. 

"En ti murio don Alonso, 
Que de Aguilar se llamaba ; 

El yaleroso Urdiales, 
Con don Alonso acababa. 

" Por un ladera arriba 

El buen Sayavedra marcha; 
Natarel es de Sevilla, 

De la gente mas granada. 

M Tras el iba un Renegado, 
Desta manera le habla j 

Date, date. Sayavedra, 
No huyas de la batalla* 



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15 



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" Yo te conozco may bien, 
Gran tiempo estuve en tu 

Y en la Placa de Sevilla 
Bien te vide jugar caQas. 



M Conozco a to padre y madre, 
Y a tu muger dona Clara ) 

8iete alios fui tu cautivo, 
Malamente me tratabas. 

" Y aora lo aeras mio, 
8i Maboma me ayudara ; 

Y tambien te tratare, 
Como a mi me tratabas. 

M Sayaredra que lo oyera, 
Al Moro bolvio la cara ; 

Tirole el Moro una flecha, 
Pero nunca le acertaba, 

"Hiriole Sayavedra 

De una herida muy mala : 
Muerto cayo el Renegado 

Sin poder bablar palabra. 

" Sayavedra rue cercado 
De mucha Mora canalla, 

Y al cabo cayo alii muerto 
De una muy mala lancada. 

" Don Alonso en este tiempo 
Bravamente peleava, 

Y el cavallo le avian muerto* 
Y le tiene por muralla." 

• Mas cargaron tantos Moros 
Que mal le hieren y tratan : 

De la sangre, que perdia, 
Don Alonso se desmaya. 



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Gbntlk river, gentle river, ' ' 

Lo, tby streams are stain'd with gore, 

Many a brave and noble captain 
Floats along tby willow'd shore.; 

AU beside thy limpid waters, 
All beside thy sands so bright, 

Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors 
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight. 

Lords, and dukes, and noble princes 
On thy fatal banks were slain : 

Fatal banks that gave to slaughter 
All the pride and flower of Spain. 

There the hero, brave Alonso 
Full of wounds and jrlory died : 

There the fearless Urdiales 
Fell a victim by his side. 

Lo ! where yonder Don Saavedra 
Thro' their squadrons slow retires ; 

Proud Seville, his native city, 
Proud Seville his worth admires. 

Close behind a renegado 

Loudly shouts with taunting cry ; 
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, 

Dost thou from the battle flyl 

Well I know thee, haughty Christian, 
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof; 

Oft I've in the lists of glory 
Seen thee win the prize of proofc 

Well I know thy aged parents 
Well thy blooming bride I know ; 

Seven years I was thy captive, 
Seven years of pain and woe. 

May our prophet grant my wishes, 
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine ; 

Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, 
Which I drank when I was thine* 

Like a lion turns the warrior, 
Back he sends an angry glare : 

Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, 
Vainly whizzing thro* the air. 

Back the hero full of fury 
Sent a deep and mortal wound : 

Instant sunk the Renegado, 
Mute and lifeless on the ground. 

With a thousand Moors surrounded. 
Brave Saavedra stands at bay : 

Wearied out but never daunted, 
Cold at length the warrior lay. 

Near him fighting great Alonso 
Stout resists the Paynim bands ; 

From his slaughterM steed dismounted 
Firm intrench'd behind him stands. 

Furious press the hostile squadron, 
Furious he repels their rage : 

Loss of blood at length enfeebles ; 
Who can war with thousands wsge ! 



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88 



ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA. 



'll 



" Al fin, al fin cayo mnerto 
Al pie de un pena alts, 

■ Mnerto queda don Alonso, 

Eterna fania ganara." 



60 



Where yon rock the plain o'ershadow*. 

Close beneath its foot retir'd. 
Faulting sunk the bleeding hero. 

And without a groan expir'd. 60 



+ # + In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad, follow a few more stanzas, bat being of inferior 
merit were not translated. 

" Renegado" properly signifies an Apostate ; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general ; as 
it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c 

The image of the "Lion" Ace. in ver. 57, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which 
«nd in " ia/' via. 

Sayaredra, que lo oyera, 
Como on leon rebolbia." 



M 



XVII. 
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA, 

A MOORISH TAU, 
IMITATED PltOM THE SPANISH. 



The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the 
nature of the two languages would admit. In the 
following a wider compass hath been taken. The 
Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is pre- 
aerred in the .same history of the civil wars of 
Granada, £ 22, and begins with these lines i 

" Por la caHe de su dams 
Passeando se anda, &o." 



Softly blow the evening breezes, 
Softly rail the dews of night; 

Yonder walks the Moor Alcantor, 
Shunning every glare of light. 

In yon palace lives fair Zaida, 

Whom he loves with flame so pore : 

Loveliest she of Moorish ladies ; 
He a young and noble Moor. 

Waiting for the appointed minute, 

Oft he paces to and fro ; 
Stopping now, now moving forwards, 

Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow. 

Hope and fear alternate teize him, 
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care*— - 

8ee, fond youth, to yonder window 
Softly steps the timorous lair. 

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre 

To the lost benighted swain, 
When all silvery bright she rises, 

Gilding mountain, grove, and plain. 



10 



15 



20 



Lovely seems the sun's full glory 
To the tainting seaman's eyes, 

When some horrid storm dispersing 
O'er the wave his radianoe flies. 

But a thousand times more lovely 
To her longing lover's sight 

Steals half seen the beauteous maiden 
Thro 1 the glimmerings of the night, 



tb 



Tip-toe stands the anxious lover, 

Whispering forth a gentle sigh • 50 

Alia* keep thee, lovely lady ; 

Tell me, am I doom'd to die? 

Is it true the dreadful story, 

Which thy damsel tells my page, 
That seduc'a by sordid riches 3» 

Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age 4 

An old lord from Antiquera 

Thy stern father brings along ; 
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, 

Thus consent my love to wrong? 40 

If 'tis true, now plainly tell me, 

Nor thus trifle with my woes ; 
Hide not then from me tne secret, 

Which the world so clearly knows. 

Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden, 45 

While tne pearly tears descend : 
Ah ! my lord, too true the story ; 

Here our tender loves must end. 

Our fond friendship is discover'd, 

Well are known our mutual vows : 50 

All my friends are full of fury ; 

Storms of passion shake the house. 

Threats, reproaches, fears surround me ; 

My stern father breaks my heart : 
Alia knows how dear it costs me, 55 

Generous youth, from thee to part. 

Ancient wounds of hostile fury 
Lone have rent our house and thine ; 

Why then did thy shining merit 

Win this tender heart of mine ? 60 

Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee 

Spite of all then* hateful pride, 
Tho I fear'd my haughty father 

Ne'er would let me be thy bride. 

* Alia it the Mahometan name of God. 



RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE. 



Well thou know'st what cruel chidings 65 

Oft I've from my mother borne ; 
What I've suffer'd here to meet thee 

Still at ere and early morn. 

I no longer may resist them ; 

All, to force my hand combine j 70 

And to-morrow to thy rival 

This weak frame I most resign. 



Yet think not thy faithful Zaida 
Can survive so great a wrong ; 

Well my breaking heart assures me 
That my woes will not be long. 



75 



Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor ! 

Farewell too my life with thee I 
Take this* scarf a parting token ; 

When thou wear'st it think on me. 80 

80011, lor'd youth, some worthier maiden 

Shall reward thy generous truth : 
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida 

Died for thee in prime of youth. 



—To him all amaz'd, confounded, 
Thus she did her woes impart : 

Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd, — O Zaida ! 
Do not, do not break my heart. 

Canst thou think I thus will lose thee ? 

Canst thou hold my love so small 1 
No ! a thousand times 1 II perish ! 

My curst rival too shall rail. 

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them 1 
O break forth, and fly to me ! 

This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, 
These fond arms shall shelter thee. 

Tie in vain, in vain, Alcanzor, 
Spies surround me, bars secure : 

8carce I steal this last dear moment, 
While my damsel keeps the door. 

Hark, I hear my rather storming ! 

Hark, I hear my mother chide ! 
I must jro : farewell for ever ! 

Gracious Alia be thy guide I 



B9 

85 



90 



1 ! 



95 



100 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



SERIES THE SECOND. 



BOOK I. 



Though some make slight of Libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sits : As, take a straw and 
throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the wind is, which you shall not do by casting up 
a stone. More solid things do not show the complexion of the times so well as Ballads and Libels. 

Seloshs Table-talk. 



I. 



RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE. 



"A ballad made by one of the adherents to 
Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the 
battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, It 64," 

—affords a curious specimen of ancient satire, and 
shows that the liberty, assumed by the rood people 
of this realm, of abusing their kings and princes at 
pleasure, is a privilege of very long standing. 

To render this antique libel intelligible, the 
reader is to understand that just before the battle of 
Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of 
Henry HL the barons had offered his brother 
Richard King of the Romans 30,0001. to procure a 
peace upon such terms as would have divested 
Henry of all his regal power, and therefore the 
treaty proved abortive. The consequences of that 



battle are well known : the king, prince Edward his 
* son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends, 
fell into the hands of their enemies; while two 
mat barons of the king's party, John Earl of 
Warren, and Hugh Bigot the king's Justiciary, had 
been glad to escape into France. 

In the 1st stanza the aforesaid sum of thirty 
thousand pounds is alluded to ; but, with the usual 
misrepresentation of party malevolence, is asserted 
to have been the axhorbitant demand of the king's 
brother. 

With regard to the 2d stanza the reader is to 
note that Richard, along with the earldom of Corn 
wall, had the honours of Wallingfbrd and Eyre 
confirmed to him on his marriage with Sanchia, 



daughter of the Count of Provence, in 1943— 
Windsor Castle was the chief fortress belonging to 
the king, and had been garrisoned by foreigners: 
a circumstance which furnishes out the burthen of 
each stanza. 

The 3d stanza alludes to a remarkable circum- 
stance which happened 'on the day of the battle of 
Lewes. After the battle was lost, Richard King of 
the Romans took refuge in a windmill, which he 
barricadoed, and maintained for some time against 
the barons, but in the evening was obliged to surren- 
der. See a very full account of this in the Chronicle 
of Mailros ; Oxon. 1684. p. 229. 

The 4th stanza is or obvious interpretation : 
Richard, who had been elected King of the Romans 
in 1256, and had afterwards gone over to take pos- 
session of his dignity, was in the year 1259 about 
to return into England, when the barons raised a 
popular clamour that he was bringing with him 
foreigners to over-run the kingdom : upon which he 
was forced to dismiss almost all his followers, 
otherwise the barons would have opposed his land- 
ing. 

In the 5th stanza the writer regrets the escape of 
the Earl of Warren ; and in the 6th and 7th stanzas 
insinuates, that, if he and Sir Hugh Bigot once fell 
into the hands of their adversaries, they should 
never more return home; a circumstance which 
fixes the date of this ballad ; for, in the year 1265, 
both these noblemen landed in South Wales, and 
the royal party soon after gained the ascendant. See 
Holinshea, Rapin, Sec 

The following is copied from a very ancient MS. 
in the British Museum. [Harl. MSS. 2253. s. 23.] 
This MS. is judged, from the peculiarities of the 
writing, to be not later than the time of Richard II. ; 
th being every where expressed by the character p ; 
the y is pointed after the Saxon manner, and the f 
hath an oblique stroke over it. 

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me ; 
The Kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute, 
Thritti thousent pound askede he 
For te make the pees in the countre, 

Ant so he dude more. 5 

Richard, than thou be ever trichard, 

Tricthen ahalt thou never more. 

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kying, 
He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng, 
Haveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng, 10 

Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng, 

Maugre Wyndesore. 
Richard, than thou be ever, etc 



The kvng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel 
He saiseae the mulne for a castel, 15 

With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel, 
He wende that the sayles were mangonel 

To helpe Wyndesore. 
Richard, than thou be ever, &c 

The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host, 20 

Makede him a castel of a mulne post, 
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele boat, 
Bronte from Alemayne mony sori gost 

To store Wyndesore. 
Richard, than thou be ever, &c 25 

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche synne, 
That lette paasen over see the Erl of Warynne : 
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th fanne, 
The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne, 

For love of Wyndesore. 30 

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c 

Sire Simond de Mountfort hath snore bi ys chyn, 
Hevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn, 
Shuld he never more come to is yn, 
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gyn, 35 

To help of Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, Ace 

Sire Simond de Montfort hath snore bi ys cop, 
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot : 
Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot 40 

Shulde he never more with his sot pot 

To helpe Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc 

Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward, 
Thou ahalt ride sporeles o thy lyard 45 

Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward, 
Shalt thou never more breke foreward ; 

Ant that reweth sore 
Edward, thou dudest as a shreward, 

Forsoke thyn ernes lore 50 

Richard, etc 

+ a * This ballad will rise in its importance with 
the reader, when he finds that it is even believed to 
have occasioned a law in our Statute Book, via. 
" Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause dis- 
cord betwixt king and people" (Westm. Primer, 
c. 34, anno 3. Edw. I.) That it had this effect, is 
the opinion of an eminent writer : See " Observa- 
tions upon the Statutes, &c." 4to, 2d edit 1766, 
p. 71. 

However, in the HarL Collection may be found 
other satirical and defamatory rhymes of the same 
age, that might have their share in contributing to 
this first law against libels. 



II. 



ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



We have here an early attempt at elegy. Edward 
I. died July 7, 1307, in the thirty-fifth year of his 
reign, and sixty-ninth of his age. This poem ap- 
pears to have been composed soon after his death. 
According to the modes of thinking peculiar to 
tnose times, the writer dwells more upon his devo- 

Ver. 8, kya, MS. 



tion than his skill in government; and pays leas 
attention to the martial and political abilities of this 
great monarch, in which he had no equal, than to 
some little weaknesses of superstition, which he 
had in common with all his contemporaries. The 

Ver. 40, g'le here MS. i. e. grant their. VIA. Qtois. 
Yer. 44 This itauxa was omitted in the former < * '" 



ON THE DEATH OP KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



.* 



king had in the decline of life rowed an expedition 
to the Holy Land ; but finding his end approach, be 
drtlicated the sum of 32,0001. to the maintenance of 
a lanje body of knights (one hundred and forty say 
hi «torians, eighty says our poet), who were to carry 
his heart with them into Palestine. This dying 
command of the king was never performed. Our 
poet, with the honest prejudices of an Englishman, 
attributes this failure to the advice of the King of 
France, whose daughter Isabel, the young monarch 
who succeeded immediately married, but the truth 
is, Edward and his destructive favourite Piers 
G iveston spent the money upon their pleasures. — 
To do the greater honour to the memory of his 
hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the 
Pope, with the same poetic licence, as a more modern 
bard would have introduced Britannia, or the Ge- 
nius of Europe, pouring forih his praises. 

This antique elegy is extracted from the same 
MS. volume as the preceding article ; is found with 
the same peculiarities of writing and orthography ; 
and, though written at near the distance of halt a 
century, contains little or no variation of idiom : 
whereas the next following poem by Chaucer, which 
was probably written not more than fifty or sixty 
rears after this, exhibits almost a new language. 
*This seems to countenance the opinion of some 
antiquaries, that this great poet made considerable 
innovations in his mother tongue, and introduced 
many terms, and new modes of speech from other 
languages. 

Alls, that beoth of huerte trewe, 

A stounde herkneth to my song 
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe, 

That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among ; 
Of a knyht, that wes so strong, 5 

Of wham God hath don ys wille ; 
Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong, 
. That he so sone shall ligge stille. 

Al Englond ahte for te knowe 

Of wham that song is, that y synge ; 10 

Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe, 

Zent al this world is nome con springe : 
Trewest mon of alle thinge, 

Ant in werre war ant wys, 
For him we ahte oure hounden wrynge, 15 

Of Christendome he ber the prys. 

Byfore that oure kyng was ded, 

He spek ase mon that wes in care, 
" Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde 

Y charge ou by oure sware, 20 
That ye to Eugefonde be trewe. 

Y deze, y ne may ly ven na more ; 
Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe, 

For he is nest to buen y-core. 

Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt, 25 

That hit be write at my devys, 
Over the see that Hue* be diht, 

With fourscore knyhtes al of prys, 
In werre that buen war ant wys, 

Azein the hethene for te fyhte, 80 

To wynne the croiz that lowe lys, 

Myself ycholde aef that y myhte." 

• The same of the penon -who wai to preside over thU 



Kyng of Frounce, thou heyedest 'stone/ 

That thou the counsail woldest fonde, 
To latte the wille of * Edward kyng' 

To wende to the holy londe : 
That oure kyng hede take on honde 

All En ge fond to zerae ant wysse, 
To wenden in to the holy londe 

To wynnen us heveriche blisse. 

The message* to the pope com. 

And seyde that our kynge was ded : 
Ys oune bond the lettre he nom, 

Ywis his herte was full gret : 
The Pope him self the lettre redde, 

Ant spec a word of gret honour. 
Alas ! he seid, is Edward ded ! 

Of Christendome he ber the flour." 

The Pope to is chaumbre wende, 

For dol ne mihte,he speke na more ; 
Ant after cardinals he sende. 

That muche couthen of Cristas lore, 
Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more. 

Bed hem bothe rede ant synge : 
Gret deol me myhte se thore, 

Mony mon is honde wrynge, 

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse 

With ful gret solempnete, 
Ther me con the soule blesse : 

" Kyng Edward honoured thou be: 
God love tlii sone come after the, 

Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne, 
The holy crois y-mad of tre, 

So fain thou wouldest hit hay y-wonne. 



55 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



»» 



75 



1 



Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore 

The flour of al chivalrie 
Now kyng Edward liveth na more : 

Alas ! that he set shulde deye ! 
He wolde ha rered up full heyze 

Oure banners, that brueth broht to grounde ; 
Wei ! longe we mowe clepe and crie 70 

Er we a such kyng han y-founde/' 

Nou is Edward of Camarvan 

King of Engelond al aplyht, 
God lete him ner be worse man 

Then his fader, ne lasse of myht, 
To holden is pore men to ryht, 

And understonde good counsail, 
Al Engelong for to wysse ant dyht ; 

Of gode knyhtes darn him nout fail. 

Thah mi tonge were mad of stel, 80 

Ant min herte yzote of bras, 
The godness myht y never telle, 

That with kyng Edward was : 
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour, 

In uch bataille thou hadest prys ; 
God bringe thi soule to the honour, 

That ever wes, ant ever ys. 

%• Here follow in the original three lines more, 
which, as seemingly redundant, we chuse to throw 
to the bottom of the page, via. 
' That lasteth ay withouten ende, 

Bidde we God ant oure Ledy to thilke blisse 

Jesus us sende. Amen. 

Yer. 33, ranne, MS. Ver. 3ft, Kyng Edward. MS. Ver. 
43, ys U probably a contraction of in hyt or yn his. Ve r 
53, 69, Me, i.e. Men; bo in Robvrt of Glonccater paislm. 



85 



*i 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



III. 



AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER. 



This little sonnet, which hath escaped all the 
editors of Chaucer's works, is now printed for the 
first time from an ancient MS. in the Pepysian library, 
that contains many other poems of its venerable au- 
thor. The versification is of that species, which the 
French call Rondeau, very naturally Englished by 
our honest countrymen Round O. Though so 
early adopted by them, our ancestors had not the ho- 
nour of inventing it : Chaucer picked it up, along 
with other better things, among the neighbouring 
nations. A fondness for laborious trifles hath al- 
ways prevailed in the dark ages of literature. The 
Greek poets have had their wings and axes: the 
great father of English poesy may therefore be par- 
doned one poor solitary rondeau*— Geofrey Chaucer 
died Oct 25, 1400, aged 72. 



L 1. 

Yours two eyn will sle me sodenly, 
I may the beaute of them not sustene, 
So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene 

S. 

And but your words will helen hastely 
My herds wound, while that it is grene, 
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly. 

3. 

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, ~ 
That ye ben of my line and deth the quene ; 
For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. 
Youre two e 



\ 



II. 1. 

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased 
Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn ; 
For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne. 

2. 

Gfltless my deth thus have ye purchased ; 
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn : 
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased. 

5. 

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed 
So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn 
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn. 
So hath youre beaute, &c« 

IH. 1. 

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat 

I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene * 

Syn I am fire, I count© him not a bene. 

2. 

He may answere, and sey this and that, 
I do no fors, I speak rygnt as I mene ; * 
8yn I fro love escaped am so fat. 



Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat. 
And he is strike out of my bokes clene : 
For ever mo ' ther*' is non other mene. 
Syn I fro love escaped, &c 



IV. 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM : 

" OB THE W00ETNO, WXNNINO, AND WXDDZNO OP TIBBB, THE RBEV's DAVOHTER THERE." 



ft does honour to the good sense of this nation, 
that while all Europe was captivated with the 
bewitching charms of Chivalry and Romance, two of 
our writers in the rudest times could see through 
the false glare that surrounded them, and discover 
whatever was absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote 
his Rhyme of Sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter j 
and in the following poem we have a humorous bur- 
lesque of the former. Without pretending to decide 
whether the institution of chivalry was upon the 
whole useful or pernicious in the rude ages, a ques- 
tion that has lately employed many good writers*, 
it evidently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave 
such force to the custom of duelling, that there is 
little hope of its being abolished. This, together 
with the fatal consequences which often attended 
the diversion of the Turnament, was sufficient to 
render it obnoxious to the graver part of mankind. 
Accordingly the church early denounced its censures 

• See [Mr. Hard's] Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 176*. Me- 
moirs de la Chevalerle, par M. de la. Curne des Palais, 
1700, 2 torn. ISmo. &c 



against it, and the state was often prevailed on to at- 
tempt its suppression. But fasnion and opinion 
are superior to authority: and the proclamations 
against tilting were as little regarded in those times, 
as the laws against duelling are in these. This did 
not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily 
perceived that inveterate opinions must be attacked 
by other weapons, besides proclamations and cen- 
sures ; he accordingly made use of the keen one of 
Ridicule. With this view be has here introduced 
with admirable humour a parcel of clowns, imitating 
all the solemnities of the Tourney. Here we have 
the regular challenge— the appointed day— the lady 
for the prize — the formal preparations — the display 
of armour — the scucheons and devices — the oaths 
taken on entering the lists — the various accidents of 
the encounter — the victor leading off the prise— and 
the magnificent feasting— with all the other solemn 
fopperies that usually attended the pompous Tur- 
nament. And how acutely the sharpness of the 
author's humour must have been felt in those days, 

• This, MS. 



THE TURNAMENT OP TOTTENHAM. 



!tt 



we may learn from what we can perceive of ita 
keenness now, when time has to much blunted the 
edge of his ridicule. 

The Turnament of Tottenham waa first printed 
from an ancient MS in 1631, 4to, by the Rev. 
Whilhem Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, who was 
one of the translators of the Bible, and afterwards 
Bishop of Kilmore in Ireland, where be lived and 
died with the highest reputation of sanctity, in 1641 
He tells ns, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington, 
thought to hare been some time parson of the same 
parish, and author of another piece, intitled Pamo 
Domini Jan* Ckristi, Bedwell, who was eminently 
skilled in the oriental and other languages, appears 
to have been but little conversant with the ancient 
writers in his own ; and he so little entered into the 
spirit of the poem he waa publishing, that he contends 
for ita being a serious narrative of a real event, and 
thinks it must have been written before the time of 
Edward III, because Turnaments were prohibited in 
that reign. "I do verily believe," says he, "that 
this Turnament waa acted before Una proclamation of 
King Edward. For how durst any to attempt to do 
that, although in sport, which waa so straightly 
forbidden, both by the civill and eccleaiasticaU 
power ? For although they fought not with lances, 
yet, as our author sayth, * It waa no childrens game.' 
And what would have become of him, thinke you, 
which should have alayne another in this manner of 
ieasting? Would he not, trow you, have been 
hang'd for it in earnest ? yea, and have bene buried 
like a dogge?" It is, however, well known that 
Turnaments were in use down to the reign of Eliza- 
beth. 

In the first editions of this work, Bedwell's copy 
was reprinted here, with some few conjectural emen- 
dations ; but as Bedwell seemed to have reduced the 
orthography at least, if not the phraseology, to the 
standard or his own time, it was with great pleasure 
that the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. copy 
preserved in the Museum [HarL MSS. 5396.] which 
appeared to have been transcribed in the reign of King 
Hen. VL about 1456. This obliging information 
the Editor owed to the friendship of Thomas Tyr- 
whit, Esq., and he has chiefly followed that more 
authentio transcript, improved however by some 
readings from Bedwell'a JBook. 

Or all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde ; 
Of fele feyztyng folk ferry we fynde, 
The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde ; 
It were hanne sych hardynea were holden byhynde, 
In story as we rede 5 

Of Hawkyn, of Herry, 
Of Tomkyn, of Terry, 
Of them that were dughty 
And stalwortb in deae. 

It befel in Totenham on a dere day, 10 

Ther was mad a ahurtyng be the hy-way. 
Theder com al the men of the contray, 
Of Hyssvlton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay, 
And all the swete swynkera. 
Ther hopped Hawkyn, 15 

Ther daunsed Dawkyn, 
Ther trumped Tomkyn, 

And all were trewe drynkers. 

Ty) the day was gon and evyn-aong past, [cast ; 
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts 



Perkyn the potter into the press past, f 1 

And sayd Randol the refe, a doster thou hast, 
Tyb the dere : 

Therfor faine wyt wold I, 
Whych of all thys bachelery 25 

Were best worthye 
To wed hur to hys fere. 

Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther lang staves, 
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys laa raves ; 
Boldely amang ua thy doster he craves ; SO 

We er rycher men than he, and mor gode haves 
Of cattail and corn ; 
Then sayd Perkyn, To Tvbbe I have hyst 
That I schal be alway redy in my ryzt, 
If that it schuld be thys day sevenyzt, 35 
Or elles set to morn. 

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he waryd 
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryd : 
I wold not my dozter, that echo were miscaryd, 
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were maryd ; 
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne 41 

Thys day sevenyzt,-— 
Wyth a flayl for to fyat : 
And ' he,' that is most of myght 

Schal brouke hur wyth wynne. 45 

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament, 
Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon assent. 
For to wynne my dozter wyth ' dughtynesse' of dent. 
And * coppelT my brode-henne • that* was brozt out 
of Kent : 

And my dunnyd kowe 50 

For no spens wyl I spare, 
For no cattell wyl I care, 
He schall have my gray mare. 
And my apottyd sowe. 

Ther was many ' a' bold lad ther bodyes to bed© : 55 
Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they zede ; 
And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede, 
Tyll it come to the day, that thay auld do ther dede. 
They armed ham in matts ; 

Thay set on ther nollys, 60 

For to kepe ther pollys, 
Gode blake bollys, 
For batryng of bats. 

Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld 

not brest : 
Hk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest : 65 

' A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,' 
And a flayle in ther hande ; for to fyght prest, 
Furth gon thay fare : 
Ther was kyd mekyl fora 
Who schuld best fend hys core : 7C 

He that had no gode hors, 
He gat hym a mare. 

Sych another gadrynghave I not sene oft, 
When all the gret company com rydand to the croft 
. Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft T5 

On a sek nil of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt soft, 

Vcr. 30, It is not very clear In the MS. whether it 
should be cont or contera. Ver. 48, dosty, MS. V. 40, 
coppled. We still use the phrase, " a cop pie-crowned hen." 
Ver. 57, gayed, PC. Ver. 66, ia wanting in MS. and rap- 
pelld from PC. Ver. 72, He borrowed him, PC. V. 7A, 
The MS. had once scdys, 1. e. seeds, which appeals to have 
been altered to fedyrs, or feather*. W**H' jopv ha 
Sen vy, i.e. Mustard-seed. 



j — 



•$ 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



I 



And led 'till the gap.' 
For cryeng of the men 
Forther wold not Tyb then, 
Tyl echo had hur brode hen 
Set in hur Lap. 



80 



A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the nonys, 
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde bonys, 
And a brocbe on hur brest ful of ' aapphyre' atonya , 
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn for the 

nonys ; 85 

For no ' spendings' thay had spared. 

When joly Gyb saw hur thare, 

He gyrd so hys gray mare, 

1 That acho lete a fowkin* fare 
At the rereward. 90 

I wow to God, quoth Herry, I achal not lefe behynde, 
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard theblynde, 
Ich man kepe nym out of my wynde, 
For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde, 
I wot I achall hym grere. 
Welesayd, quoth Hawkyn. 
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn, 
May I mete wyth Tomkyn, 
Hys flay lei schal hym reve. 

I make a row, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal thou 

se, 100 

Whych of all thys bachelerr * granted* is the gre : 
I schal scomfet thaym all, for the lore of the ; 
In what place so I come they schal hare doutof me, 
Myn armes ar so clere : 

I bere a reddrl, and a rake, 105 

Poudred wyth a brenand drake, 

And three canteUs of a cake 
In ycha cornere. 

I tow to God, auoth Hawkyn, rf ' I * hare the gowt, 
Al that I fynde in the ferae * thraatand here 

aboate, 110 

Hare I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route. 
In ycha stede thor thay me se, of me thay schal hare 
When I begyn to play. [doute. 

I make arowe that I ne schall, 

But yf Tybbe wyl me call, 115 

Or I be tnryes don fall, 
Ryzt onys com away* 

Then aayd Terry, and swore be hys credo ; 
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede, 
For when thay ryst fastest and moat ar in drede, ISO 
I achall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede : 
I am armed at the full; 
In myn arrays I bere wele 
A doz trogh, and a pele, 
A sadyll wythout a panel!, 125 

Wyth a flea of wolL 

I make a row, quoth Dudman, and swore be the stra, 
Whyla me ys left my ' mare/ thou gets hurr not swa j 
For scho ys wele achapen, and list aa the rae, 
Ther is no capul in thys myle befor hur schal ga ; 190 



Ver. 77, And led hnr to cap, MS. V. 83, Bed well's PC. 
has, ' Rnel-Bones.' V. 84, safer stones, MS. V. 85, wrotyn, 
i. e. wrought, PC. reads, written. V. 86, No c*M [perhaps 
chatel] they bad spared, MS. V. 88. Then . . . fancon, MS. 
V. 101, grant, MS. V. 100, yf he have, MS. V. 110, the 
US. literally has thr. sand here V. 128 merth, MS. 



8che wul ne noxt begyle . 
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say, 
On a lang somerys day, 
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay, 
Nozt other half myle. 



J55 



I make a row, quoth Perkyn, thaw spelrsof cold rost, 
I schal wyrch ' wyselyer* without any boat : 
Fire of the beat capulys, that ar in thya ost, [cost, 
I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my 
. And here I grant thaym Tybbe. 140 

Wele boyes here ys he, 

That wyl fyzt, ana not fle, 

For I am m my jolyte, 

Wyth ao forth, Gy bbe. 

When thay had ther rowes made, furth can thay 

hie, 145 

Wyth flayles, and homes, and trumpes mad of tie : 
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre ; 
Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be : 
Thayr banera were ful bryzt 

Of an old rotten fell ; 150 

The chereron of a plow-mell ; 

And the schadow of a bell, 
Poudred wyth the mone lyxt. 

[met, 
I wot yt * was' ne chylder game, whan thay togedyr 
When icha freke in the feld on hys feloy bet, 155 
And layd on atyfly, for nothyng wold thay let, 
And foght ferly fast, tyll ther hones swet, 
And few wordys spoken. 

Ther were navies al to alatred, 
Ther were scheldya al to flatred, 160 

Bollys and dysches al to achatred, 
And many hedya brokyn. 

There was clynkyng of cart-sade lys, and clatteryng 

of Cannes; 
Of fele frekya in the feld brokyn were their fannes ; 
Of sum were the hedya brokyn, of sum the brayn- 

pannes, 
And yll were thay besene, or thay went thanns, 166 
Wyth awyppyng of swepyls : 

Thay were so wery for-foght, 

Thay myst not fyat mare oloft, 

But creped about in the ' croft,' 170 

As thay were croked crepyls. 

Perkyn was so wery, that he began to loute ; 
Help, Hud, I am ded in thya ylk rowte : 
An nors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute 1 
That I may lyztly come of my noye oute, 
For no coat wyl I spare. 
He fltyrt up as a anale, 
And hent a capul be the tayle, 
And ' reft' Dawkin hys flayle. 

And wan there a mare. 180 

Perkyn wan fire, and Hud wan twa : 

Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had don sa ; 

Thay wold have tbam to Tyb, and present hur with 

tha: 
The Capulls were so wery, that thay myat not ga, 

Ver. 137, swysellor, MS. V. 146, flailes, and barniwe, 
PC. V. 151, The Chiefe, PC. V. IM,yt ys, MS. V. 1«, 
The boves were, MS. V. 170, creped then about In the croft, 
MS. V. 179, ract, MS. 



FOR THE VICTORY AT AOINCOURT. 



y5 



But fltyl gon thay stond. 185 

Alas ! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese; 
Mee had lever then a ston of chese, 
That dere Tyb had al these, 
And wyst" it were my Bond. 

Perkynturnyd hym about in that ych thrang 190 

Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrung ; 

He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast tham 
amang, 

When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang, 
And after hym ran ; 

Off his horse he hym droeh, 195 

And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh : 
We te he ! quoth Tyb, and lugh, 
Ye er a dughty man. 

• Thus 9 thay tagged, and ragged, tyl yt was nere 

nyst: 
All the wyvesof Tottenham came to se that syst 200 
Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there lyzt, 
To fetch horn ther husbandes, that were tham trouth 
And sum brozt gret harwos, Lpty** > 

Ther husbandes horn to fetch, 
Sum on dores, and sum on hech, 205 

Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech, 
And sum on whele-barows. 

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, ' on' everych syde, 
Ana grant hym ther ' the gre,' the more was hys 
pryde: [ryae, 

Tyb and be, wyth gret * mirth' homward con thay 
And were al nyst togedyr, tyl the morn tyde ; 311 



And thay ' to church went :' 
So wele hys nedys he has sped, 
That dere Tyb he ' hath' wed ; 
The prayse-folk, that hur led, 
Were of the Turnament. 



£15 



To that ylk fest com many for the nones ; 

Some come hyphalte, and some trippand * thither* on 

the stonys : 
Sum a staf in hvs hand, and sum two at onys ; 
Of sum where tne hedes broken, of some the schulder 

bonys ; 220 

With sorrow come tbay thedyr. 

Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry, 

Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry, 

And so was all the bachelary, 

When thay met togedyr. 225 

•At that fest thay wer serryd with a ryche amy. 

Every fyve & fyre had a cokenay ; 

And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day ; 

And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret de- 
ray : 
Mekyl myrth was them among ; 230 

In every corner of the hous 
Was melody delycyous 
For to here precyus 
Of six menys songf. 



V. 
FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT. 



iL 



That our plain and martial ancestors could wield 
their swords much better than their pens, will 
appear from the following homely rhymes, which 
were drawn up by some poet laureat of those 
days to celebrate the immortal victory gained at 
Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. This song or hymn is 

S'ven merely as a curiosity, and is printed from a 
8 copy in the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio . 

Deo gratiat Anglia redde pro victoria ! 

Owre kynge went<forth to Normandy, 
With grace and myzt of chivalry ; 
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously, 
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry 5 

Deo grattas: • 
Deo gratiat Anglia redde pro victoria. 

He sette a sege, the sothe for to say, 

To Harflue toune with ryal aray ; 

That toune he wan, and made a fray, 10 

That Fraunee shall ry we tyl domes day. 

Deo gratiat : Ace. 

Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste, 
Thorowe Fraunee for all the Frenshe boste ; 
He spared ' for' drede of leste, ne most, 15 

Tyl he come to Agincourt coste. 

Deo gratiat, &c. 

Ver. .85, Hand, MS. V. 180, sand, MS. V. ISO, Thy* 
MS. V. 104, bom for to fetch, MS. V. SOS, about everych 
fide, MS. V. 900, the gre, b wanting In MS. V. 110, 
muihe, MS. 



20 



25 



50 



Than for sothe that knyst comely 
In Agincourt feld he faust manly, 
Thorow grace of God most myaty 
He had bothe the felde, and the victory . 

Deo gratiat, Ace 

Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone. 
Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone, 
And some were ledde in to Lundone 
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone. 

Deo gratiat, &c 

Now gracious God he save owre kynge, 
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge, 
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endygne, 
That we with merth mowe savely synge 

Deo gratias : 
Deo gratiat Anglia redde pro victoria* 



Ver. 212, And thay ifere assent, MS. V. 214, had wed, 
MS. Y. 215, The cheefemen, PC. V. 218, trippand on, 
MS. 

* In the former Impressions, this conclnduig stanza was 
only given from BedweU's primed edition ; bat it is here 
copied from the old MS. wherein it has been since found 
separated from the rest of the poem, by several pages of a 
money-account, and other heterogeneous matter. 

t Six men'* eong, 1. e. a soug for six voices. So Shakes- 
peare uses Three-man tong-men^ in bis Winter's Tale, A. I II. 
sc. 3, to denote men that could sing catches composed for 
three voices. Of this sort are Weelkes's Madrigals men- 
tioned below. Book II. Song 0, So again Shakespeare has 
Three-men Beetle ; i. e. a Beetle or Rammer worked by 
three men. 2 Hen. IV. A. I. Sc. 3. 



r 



96 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



I 






VI. 
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



The sentimental beauties of this ancient ballad 
have always recommended it to readers of taste, not- 
withstanding the rust of antiquity which obscures 
the style and expression. Indeed, if it had no other 
merit than the haying afforded the ground-work to 
Prior's "Henry and Emma," this ought to preserve it 
from oblivion. That we are able to give it in so 
correct a manner, is owing to the great care and ex- 
actness of the accurate Editor of the "Prolusions," 
8vo, 1760; who has formed the text from two copies 
found in two different editions of Arnolde's Chroni- 
cle, a book supposed to be first printed about 1521. 
From the copy in the Prolusions the following is 
printed, with a few additional improvements gathered 
from another edition of Arnolde's book* preserved in 
the Publio Library at Cambridge. All the various 
readings of this copy will be found here, either re- 
ceived into the text, or noted in the margin. The 
references to the Prolusions will shew where they 
occur. In our ancient folio MS. described in the 
preface, is a very corrupt and defective copy of this 
bailed, which yet afforded a great improvement in 
one passage. See v. 310. 

It has been a much easier task to settle the text of 
this poem, than to ascertain its date. The ballad of 
the " Nutbrowne Mayd" was first revived in " The 
Muses Mercury for June, 1707." 4to. being prefaced 
with a little "Essay on the old English Poets and 
Poetry:" in which this poem is concluded to be 
" near 300 years old," upon reasons which, though 
they appear inconclusive to us now, were sufficient 
to determine Prior ; who there first met with it. 
However, this opinion had the approbation of the 
learned Wanley, an excellent judge of ancient books. 
For that whatever related to the reprinting of this 
old piece was referred to Wanley, appears from two 
letters of Prior's preserved in the British Museum 
[Harl. MSS. No 3777.] The Editor of the Prolu- 
sions thinks it cannot be older than the year 1500, 
because, in Sir Thomas More's Tale of " The Ser- 
jeant," 6cc. which was written about that time, there 
appears a sameness of rythmus and orthography, 
and a very near affinity of words and phrases, with 
those of this ballad. But this reasoning is not con- 
clusive ; for if Sir Thomas More made this ballad 
his model, as is very likely, that will account for the 
sameness of measure, and in some respect for that of 
words and phrases, even though this had been 
written long before : and, as for the orthography, it 
is well known that the old printers reduced that of 
most books to the standard of their own times. In- 
deed, it is hardly probable that an antiquary like 
Arnolde would have inserted it among his historical 
collections, if it had been then a modern piece ; at 
least, he would have been apt to have named its au- 
thor. But to show bow little can be inferred from a 
resemblance of rhythmus or style, the editor of these 

* This (which my friend Mr. Farmer supposes to be the 
first edition) is in folio : the folios are numbered at the bottom 
of the leaf; the Song begins at folio 75. The poem has 
since been collated with a very fine copy that was in the 
colli-ction of the late James West, Esq. ; the readings ex- 
tr*ct*Ml ibence are denoted thus, ' Mr. YVV 



10 



I say net nay, but that all day 

It is both* writ and sayd 
That womans faith is, as who sayth, 1 S 

All utterly decayd ; 
But, neverthelesse ryght good wytnesse 

In this case might be layd, 
That they lore true, and continue : 

Recorde the Not-browne Mayde : SO 

Which, when her love came, her to prove, 

To her to make his mone, 
Wolde nat depart ; for in her hart 

6he loved but hym alone. 

Than betwaine us late us dyscus t5 

What was all the manere 
Betwayne them two : we wyll also 

Tell all the payne, and fere, 
That she was in. Now I begyn, 

8o that ye me answere j SO 



Ver.l, woman. Prolusions, and Mr. West's copy. V. 11 
her, i. e. their. 

• My friend, Mr. Farmer, proposes to read the first lines 
thus, as a Latinism : 

Be it right or wrong, 'tit men among, 
On women to complayne. 



i ■ 



volumes has in his ancient folio MS. a poem on the 
victory of Floddenfield, written in the same numbers, 
with the same alliterations, and in orthography, 
phraseology, and style nearly resembling the Visions 
of Pierce Plowman, which are yet known to have 
been composed above 160 years before that battle 
As this poem is a great curiosity, we shall give a few 
of the introductory tinea : 

" Grant gracious God, grant me this time. 
That I may 'say, or I cease, thy selven to please , 
And Mary his mother, that maketh this world ; 
And all the seemlie saints, that sitten in heaven , 
I will carpe of kings, that conquered full wide, 
That dwelled in this land, that was alyes noble, 
Henry the seventh, that soveraigne lord, &c" 

With regard to the date of the following ballad, we 
have taken a middle course, neither placed it so high 
as Wanley and Prior, nor quite so low as the editor 
of .the Prolusions : we should have followed the 
latter in dividing every other line into two, but that 
the whole would then have taken up more room than 
could be allowed it in this volume, 

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among 

On women do complayne 9 ; 
Afryrmynge this, how that it is 

A labour spent in vayne, 
To love them wele; for never a dele 5 

They love a man agayne : 
For late a man do what he can, 

Theyr favour to attayne, 
Yet, yf a newe do them persue, 

Theyr first true lover than 
Laboureth for nought : for from her thought 

He is a banyshed man. 



i - 



1HE NOT. BROWNE MA YD. 



9f 



Wherfore, til ye, that present be 

I pray you, "gyre an ere 
M I am the knyght ; I oome by nyght, 

Am aecret as I can ; 
8eyinge, Alas ! thus standeth the case, 

1 am a banyshed man." 



85 



And I your wvll for to fulfyll 

Id this wyll net refuse ; 
Trnstying to she we, in wordes fewe, 

That men bare an yll nse 40 

(To theyr own shame) women to blame, 

And oanselesse them accuse; 
TT»erfore to yon I answere nowe, 

All women to excuse,— 
Myne owne hart dare, with yen what chore t 45 

I pray yon, tall anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde) 

I lore but yon alone. 



50 



It standeth ao ; a dede is do 

Wherof grete harme shall growe: 
My destiny is for to dy 

A shamefoll deth, I trowe ; 
Or elles to fie : the one must be. 

None other way I knowe, 
But to withdrawe as an outlawe. 

And take me to my bowe. 
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true I 

None other rede I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



65 



40 



Lord, what is thys worldys Mysse, 
That cbangeth as the mone ! 

My somen day in lusty may 
Is derked before the none. 

1 here yon say, farewell : Nay, nay, 
We depart nat so sone. 

Why say ye so ? wheder wyll ye go t 
Alas f what hare ye done ? 

All my welfare to sorrowe and care 
8holde chaunge, yf ye were gone ; 

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
I love but yon alone. 



65 



70 



I can beleve, it shall yon grave, 

And somewhat yon dystrayne ; 
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 

Within a day or twayne 
Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to yon agayne. 
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, 

Your labour were in vayne. 
And thus I do ; and pray you to, 

As hartely, as I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



75 



80 



Now, syth that ye hare shewed to 
The secret of your mynde, 

I shall be playne to you agayne, 
Lyke as ye shall me fynde. 

Syth it is so, that ye wyll go, 
I wolle not leve behynde ; 

Tar. 63, The morn, ProL 



85 



90 



Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd 

Was u» her lore unkynde : 
Make you redy, for so am I, 

Allthough it were anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I lore but you alone, 



95 



' Yet I you rede to take good hede 

What men wyll thynke, and say? 
Ofyonge, and olde it shall be tolde, 

Tnat ye be gone away, 
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, 

In ffrene wode you to play ; 
And that ye myent from your delyght 

No longer make delay. 
Rather than ye sholde thus for me 

Be called an yll woman, 
Yet wolde I to the ffrene wode go 

Alone, a banyshed man* 



100 



105 



Though it be songs of old and yonge, 

That I sholde be to blame, 
Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large 

In hurtynge of my name : 
For I wyll prove, that mythfulle lore 

It is aevoyd of shame ; 
In your dystresse, and hevyheese. 

To pert with you, the same : 
And sure all tho, that do not so, 

True lovers are they none ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



110 



115 



!•• 



I eounceyle you, remember howo, 

It is no maydens lawe, 
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out 

To wode with an outlawe : 
For ye must there in your hand here li& 

A bowe, redy to drawe; 
And, as a thefe, thus must yon lyre, 
. Ever in drede and awe ; 
Wherby to you grete harme myght growe : 

Yet had I lever than, 15C 

That I had to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 

she. 

I thinke nat nay, but as ye say, 

It is no maydens lore : 
But love may make me for your sake, [ 1S5 

As I have sayd before 
To come on fbte, to hunt, and shote 

To gete us mete in store; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I aske no more : 140 

From which to part, it maketh my hart 

As colde as ony stone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

he. 

For an outlawe this is the lawe, 145 

That men hym take and bynde ', 
Without pyte, hanged to be, 

And waver with the wynde, 

Ver. 01, Shall it nerer, ProL and Mr. W. V. M, Al- 
taosgat Mr. W. Y. 117, To shewe alL ProL «rd Mt. W. 
V. M3, 1 sty nat, ProL and Mr. W. V. lit, and *«** 
Carafe, copy. 



tw 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



If 1 had nede, (as God forbede !) 

What rescous coude ye fyndet 
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe 

For fere wolde drawe behynde : 
And no merrayle ; for lytell avayle 

Were in your counceyle than : 
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyahed man. 

SHI. 

Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be 

But feble for to fyght ; 
No womanhede it is indede 

To be bolde as a knyght : 
Yet, in such fere yf that ye were 

With enemyea day or nyght, 
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, 

To greve them as I myght, 
And you to save ; as women have 

From deth ' men' many one : 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

HZ. 

Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 

That ye coude nat sustayne 
The thornie waves, the depe valeies, 

The snowe, the frost, the rayne, 
Ihe colde, the hete : for dry, or wete, 

We must lodge on the playne ; 
And, us above, none other rofe 

But a brake bush, or twayne : 
Which sone aholde greve you, I beleve; 

And ye wolde gladly than 
That I nad to the grene wode go. 

Alone, a banyahed man. 

SHE. 

Syth I have here bene partynere 

With you of joy and blyase, 
I must also parte of your wo 

Endure, as reson is : 
Yet am I sure of one plesure ; 

And, shortely, it is this : 
That, where ye be, me semeth, pard&, 

I coude nat fare amysae. 
Without more speche, I you beseche 

That we were sone agone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

1 love but you alone. 



150 



155 



160 



165 



170 



175 



180 



W5 



190 



195 



too 



If ye go thyder, ye must consyder, 

Whan ye have lust to dyne, 
There shall no mete be for you gete, 

Nor drinke, bare, ale, ne wyne. 
No shetes dene, to lye betwene, 

Made of threde and twyne ; 
None other house, but leves and bowea. 

To cover your hed and myne, 
O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete 

Sholde make you pale and wan ; 
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyahed man. 



Ver. 100, aoeoors, ProL and Mr. W. V. 102, and night, 
Camb. Copy. V. 104, to helpe ye with my myght, ProL 
and Mr. W. V. 179, frott and rayne Mr. W. V. 174, Ye 
mart, ProL V. 190, shortley gone, ProL and Mr. W. V. 
100, Neyther bere. ProL and Mr. W. V. Ml, Lo myn. 
Jar. W. 



Amonge the wylde dere, such an archfen, 

As men say that ye be, 
Ne may nat nyle or good vitayle, 

Where is so grete plenty : 
And water clere of the ryvere 

Shall be full swete to me ; 
With which in hole I shall ryght wele 

Endure, as ye shall see ; 
And, or we go> a bedde or two 

I can provyde anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

HI. 

Lo yet, before, ye must do more, 

if ye wyll go with me : 
As cut your here up by your ere. 

Your kyrtel by the kne ; 
With bowe in hande, for to withstande 

Your enemyes yf nede be : 
And this same nyght before day-lyght. 

To wode-warde wyll I fle. 
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 

Do it shortely as ye can : 
Els wyll I to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyahed man. 



fC5 



flO 



215 



220 



2*5 



I shall as nowe do more for you 

Than lougeth to womanhede ; 
To shote my here, a bowe to bere, 

To shote in tyme of nede. 
O my swete mother, before all other 

For you I have most drede : 
But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, 

Where fortune doth me lede. 
All this make ye : Now let us fle ; 

The day cometh fast upon ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



230 



236 



240 



HE. 



Nay, nay, nat so ; ye shall nat go, 

And I shall tell ye why, 

Your appetyght is to be lyght 

Of love, I wele espy : 
For, lyke as ye have saved to me, 

In lyke wyse hardely 
Ye wolde answere whosoever it were. 

In way of company. 
It is sayd of olde, Sone bote, sone colde ; 

And so is a woman. 
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 

Alone, a banyahed man. 

SHE. 

Yfye take hede, it is no nede 

Such wordes to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 

Or I you loved, parde : 
And though that I of auncestjy 

A barons daughter be, 
Yet have you proved howe I you loved 

A squyer of lowe degre ; 



245 



250 



255 



260 



Ver. t07, May ye nat fayle, ProL lb. May nat fayk, 
Mr. W. V. S10, above your ere, ProL V. MO, above the 
kne, ProL and Mr. W. V. 2S3, the same, ProL and Mr. 
W. V. SSI , For I nut to the jrene, wode go, ProL and 
Mr. W. V. 353, yet to, Camb. Copy. Perhaps for yt to. 



THE NOT-BROWN E MA YD. 



99 



And ever shall, whatso befall ; 

To dy therfore* anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I lore but you alone. 



A barons chylde to be begylde ! 

It were a cursed dede ; 
To be felawe with an outlawe ! 

Almighty God forbede ! 
Yet beter were, the pore equyere 

Alone to forest yede, 
Than ye sholde say another day, 

That, by my cursed dede, 
Ye were betray*d : Wherfore, good mayd, 

The best rede that I can. 
Is, that I to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyahed man* 



265 



870 



280 



285 



«90 



275 



Whatever befall, I never shall 

Of this thyng you upbrayd : 
Butyf ye go, ana leve me so. 

Than have ye me betrayd. 
Remembar you wele, howe that ye dele ; 

For, yf ye, as ye sayd, 
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde, 

Your lore, the Not-browne Mayd, 
Trust me truly, that I shall dy 

Sone after ye be gone ; 
For, in my mynde of all mankynde 

I lore but you alone* 

BS. 

Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent} 

For in the forest nowe 
I hare purveyed me of a mayd, 

Whom I love more than you ; 
Another fayrere, than ever ye were, 

I dare it wele avowe ; 
And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe 

With other, as I trowe : 
It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; 

So wyll I, yf I can ; 
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 

Alone, a banyahed man. 

SHE. 

Though in the wode I undyrstode 

Ye had a paramour, 
All this may nought remove my thought. 

But that I wyll be your : 
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde 

And courteya every hour; 
Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll 

Commaunde me to my power : 
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, 

' Of them I wolde be one ;' 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

Ver. tea, dy with him. Editor's MS. V. 978, outbrayed, 
ProL and Mr. W. V. 382, ye be as, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 
883, Ye were tmkyade to lev me behynde, ProL and Mr. W. 
Ver. 810. So the Editor's MS. All the printed copies 



295 



300 



305 



310 



Yet wold I be that one. 
• L e. for this caate • thoacb I were to die for having 



UK. 

Myne owne dere love, I se the prove 

That ye be kynde, and true ; 
Of mayoe, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 515 

The best that ever I knewe. 
Be mery and glad, be no more sad, 

The case is chaunged newe ; 
For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, 

Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 320 

Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd 

To you, whan I began ; 
I wyll nat to the greue wode go, 

I am no banyahed man. 

SHE. 

These tydings be more gladd to me, 325 

Than to be made a quene, 
Yf I were sure they sholde endure : 

But it is often sene, 
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke 

The wordes on the splene. 330 

Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, 

And stele from me, I wene : 
Than were the case worse than it was. 

And I more wo-begone : 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 335 

I love out you alone. 

BE. 

Ye shall nat nede further to drede j 

I wyll nat dysparage 
You, (God defend !) syth ye descend 

Of so grete a lynage. 340 

Nowe undyrstande ; to Westmarlande, 

Which is myne herytage, 
I wyll you brynge ; and with a rynge 

By way of maryage 
I wyll you take, and lady make, 345 

As shortely as I can : 
Thus have you won an erlys son 

And not a banyahed man. '' 

AUTHOR. 

Here may ye se, that women be 

In love, meke, kynde, and stable : 350 

Late never man reprove them than, ■ 

Or call them variable ; 
But, rather, pray God, that we may 

To them be comfortable ; 
Which Bometyme proveth such, as he loveth, 355 

Yf they be oharytable. 
For syth men wolde that women sholde 

Be meke to them each one, 
Moche more ought they to God obey, 

And serve but bym alone. 360 



Ver. 815, of all, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 385, gladder, Prol. and 
Mr. W. V. 840,grcte lynyage, Prol. and Mr. W. V.347, 
Then have. Prol. V. 348, and no banyshed, Prol. and Mr. 
W. V. 358, This line wanting in Prol. and, Mi. W. V 
355, proved— loved, ProL and Mr. W. lb. as loveth, Cams. 
V. 357, Foraotb, ProL and Mr. W. 



to* 



CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX. 



VIL 



A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS. 



The amiable light in which the character of 
Anthony Widrille the gallant Earl Rivera has been 
placed oy the elegant Author of the Catalogue of 
Noble Writers, interests as in whatever fell from his 
pen. It is presumed therefore that the insertion of 
this little Sonnet will be nardoned, though it should 
not be found to have much poetical merit. It is the 
onl y original Poem known of that nobleman's ; his 
more voluminous works being only translations. 
And if we consider that it was written during his 
cruel confinement in Pomfret castle a short time 
before his execution in 1483, it gives us a fine 
picture of the composure and steadiness with which 
this stout Earl beheld his approaching fate. 

This ballad we owe to Rouse a contemporary 
historian, who seems to have copied it from the 
Earl's own hand writing: In Umpart, says this 
writer, incarceratumu apud PonUm-fractum tdidit 
unum Balet in angiitis, ut mUn tncnttratum mi, quod 
tubsequitur sub his verba : Sum what Musing, &c 
" Rossi Hist. 8vo. 2 Edit. p. 213." In Rouse the 2d 
Stanza, &c. b imperfect, but the defects are here 
supplied from a more perfect copy printed in 
" Ancient Songa, from the time of King Henry IIL 
to the Revolution." page 87. 

This little piece, which perhaps ought rather to 
have been printed in stanzas of eight short lines, is 
written in imitation of a poem of Chaucer's, that will 
he found in Urry's Edit. 1721, p. 565, beginning 
thus: 

" Alone walkyng, In thought piainyng, 

And sore sighying, All desolate. 
My remembryinff Of my livyng 

My death wishyng Bothe erly and late. 



Infortnnate Is so my fate 

That wote ye what, Out of mesuxe 
My life 1 hate ; Thus desperate 

In such pore estate, Doe I endure, kcS 



Sum what musyng, And more mornyng, 
In remembnng The unstydfastnes j 

This world being Of such whelyng. 
Me contrarieng, What may I gesset 

I fere dowtles, Remediles, 

Is now to sese My worull chaunce, 
[For unkyndness, Withouten less, 

And no redress, Me doth avaunee. 

With displesaunoe, To my grevaunce, 
And no suraunce Of remedy.] 

Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce, 
8uch is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye. 

Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I, 
Ana that gretly, To be content; 

8eyng playnly. Fortune doth wry 
All contrary From myn entent. 

My lyff was lent Me to on intent, 
Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune * 

But I ne went Thus to be shent, 
But sho hit ment ; such is bur won. 



10 



15 



20 



VIII. 



CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX. 



The Reader will think that infant Poetry grew 
apace between the times of Rivers and Vauz, though 
nearly contemporaries ; if the following Song is the 
composition of that Sir Nicholas (afterwards Lord) 
Vauz, who was the shining ornament of the court of 
Henry VII. «nd died in the year 1523. 

And yet to this Lord it is attributed by Putten- 
ham in his " Art of Eng. Poeaie, 1 589. 4to. a writer 
commonly well informed : take the passage at large. 
" In this figure [Counterfeit Action] the Lord 
Nicholas Vauz, a noble gentleman and much de- 
lighted in vulgar making, and a man otherwise of 
no great learning, but having herein a marvelous 
facihtie, made a dittie representing the B*ttnyle and 
Assault of Cupide, bo excellently well, a* for the 
gallant and propre application of his fiction in every 
part I cannot choose but set downe the greatest part 
of bis ditty, for in truth it cannot be amended. 
When Cupid Scaled, &c." p. 200*— -For a farther 
account of Nicholas Lord Vauz, see Mr. Walpole's 
Noble Authors, Vol. L 



The following Copy is printed from the first Edit, 
of Surrey's Poems, 1557, 4to. — See another Song of 
Lord Vauz's in the preceding Vol. Book IL No. 1L 

When Cupide scaled first the fort, 
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore; 

The batry was of such a sort, 
That I must yelde or die therfore. 

There aawe I Love upon the wall, b 

How he his banner did display : 
Alarme, alarme, he no to call : 

And bad his soulojours kepe any. 

The armes, the which that Cupide bare. 

Were pearced hartes with teares besprent, 10 

In silver and sable to declare 
The stedfast love, be alwayes ment. 



Vei 15, That forteae Roul Hist. V. 19, 



Le 



SIR ALDIXGAR. 



101 



There might yon se his hand all drest 
In colours like to white and blacke, 

With powder and with pelletes prest 15 

To bring the fort to spoile ana sacke. 

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot, 
Stode in the rampire brave and proude, 

For spenoe of ponder he spared not 
Assault ! assault 1 to crye aloude. fO 

T^ere might yon heare the cannons rore ; 

Eche pece discharged a lovers loke ; 
Which had the power to rent, and tore 

In any place whereas they toke. 

And eren with the trnmpettes sowne £5 

The scaling ladders were up set, 
And Beautie walked up and downe, 

With bow in hand, and arrowes whet. 

Then first Desire began to scale, 

And shrouded him under ' his ' targe ; SO 

As one the worthiest of them all, 

And aptest for to geve the charge. 

Then pushed souldiers with their pikes, 
Ana halberdes with handy strokes ; 

The argabushe in fleshe it Uajhtes, 35 

And duns the ayre with misty smokes. 

And, as it is the souldiers use 

When shot and powder gins to want, 

I hanged up my flagge of trace, 

And pleaded up for my lives grant. 40 

When Fansy thus had made her breche, 

And Beauty entred with her band, 
With bagge and baggage, sely wretch, 

I yelded into Beauties hand. 

Then Beautie bad to blow retrete, 45 

And every souldier to retire, 
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet 

Me captive bound as prisoner. 



Madame, quoth I, nth that this day 
Hath served you at all assayes, 

I yeld to you without delay 
Here of the fortresse all the kayes. 



50 



And sith that I have ben the marke, 
At whom you shot at with your eye ; 

Nedes must you with your handy warke 55 

Or salve my sore, or let me die. 



*»* Since the foregoing song was first printed 
off, reasons have occurred, which incline me to be- 
lieve that Lord Vaux the poet was not the Lord 
Nicholas Vaux, who died in 1523, but rather a suc- 
cessor of his in the title. — For in the first place it is 
remarkable that all the old writers mention Lord 
Vaux, the poet, as contemporary or rather posterior 
to Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Earl of Surrey, neither 
of which made any figure till long after the death of 
the first Lord Nicholas Vaux. Thus Puttenham, in 
his " Art of English Poesie, 1589," in p, 48, having 
named Skelton, adds, " In the latter end of the 
same kings raigne [Henry VIII.] sprang up a new 
company of courtly makers [poets], of whom Sir 
Thomaa Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl of Surrey, 
were the two chieftaines, who having travailed into 
Italic, and there tasted the sweet and stately mea- 
sures and stile of the Italian poesie . . greatly polished 
our rude and homely manner of vulgar poesie . . In 
the same tune, or not long after, was the Lord Nicholas 
Vaux, a man of much facilitie in vulgar making •." 
— Webbe, in his Discourse of English Poetrie, 1586, 
ranges them in the following order, " The Earl of 
Surrey, the Lord Vaux, Norton, Bristow." And 
Gascoigne, in the place quoted in the 1st vol. of 
this work f B. II. No. II.] mentions Lord Vaux after 
Surrey. — Again, the stile and measure of Lord 
Vaux's pieces seem too refined and polished for the 
age of Henry VII. and rather resemble the smooth- 
ness and harmony of Surrey and Wyat, than the 
rude metre of Skelton and Hawes. — But what puts 
the matter out of all doubt, in the British Museum 
is a copy of his poem, I loihe that I did love, [vid. 
vol. I. ubi supra] with this title, " A dyttye or sonet 
made by the Lord Vans, in the time of the noble 
Quene Marye, representing the image of Death." 
Harl. M8S. No. 1703, i 25. 

It is evident then that Lord Vaux the poet was 
not he that flourished in the reign of Henry VII. 
but either his son, or grandson : and yet according 
to Dugdale's Baronage, the former was named 
Thomas, and the latter William : but this difficulty 
is not great, for none of the old writers mention the 
Christian name of the poetic Lord Vauxf, except 
Puttenham ; and it is more likely that he mi^ht be 
mistaken in that lord's name, than in the tune in 
which he lived, who was so nearly his contemporary. 

Thomas Lord Vaux, of Harrow den in Northamp- 
tonshire, was summoned to parliament in 1531 
When he died does not appear ; but he probably 
lived till the latter end of Queen Mary's reign, since 
his son 

William was not summoned to parliament tQl the 
last year of that reign, in 1558. This Lord died in 
1595. See Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 304. — Upon the 
whole I am inclined to believe that Lord Thomas 
was the poet. 



IX. 
SIR ALDINGAR. 



This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's 
folio MS. with conjectural emendations, and the in- 
sertion of some additional stansas to supply and 
complete the at Try. 

It has been ruggeeted to the editor, that the 



k*% Kd. 1067, to, Ed. 1569. 



author of this poem seems to have had in his eye 
the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called 
Eleanor, and was married to the emperor (here 
called King) Henry. 

* i. e. Composition! In English, 
t In the Paradiae of Dainty Dtrbefl, 1M6, he to called 
/mpiy M Lord Vaux the elder.* 



f 



10S 



SIR ALHINGAH. 



Ova king he kept a false steward*, 

Sir Aldingar they him call ; 
A falser steward than he was one, 

Servde not in bower nor hall. 

He wolde bare layne by our comelye queene> 
Her deere worshippe to betraye : 

Our queene she * as a good woman, 
And evermore said him naye. 

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, 
With her hee wa» never content, 

Till traitorous meanes he colde devyse. 
In a fyer to have her brent. 

There came a lazar to the kings gate, 

A lazar both blinde and lame : 
He tooke the laser upon his backe, 

Him on the queenes bed has layne. 

" Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest, 
Looke thou goe not hence away ; 

lie make thee a whole man and a sound 
In two howers of the day V 

Then went him forth sir Aldingar, 

And hyed him to our king : 
" If I might have grace, as I have space. 

Sad tyoxngs I could bring." 

Say on, say on, sir Aldingar, 

Saye on the soothe to mee, 
" Our queene hath chosen a new new love, 

And shee will have none of thee. 

u If shee had chosen a right good knight, 
The lesse had beene her shame ; 

Bat she hath chose her a laser man, 
A lazar both blinde and lame." 

If this be true, thou Aldingar, 

The tvding thou tellest to me, 
Then will I make thee a rich rich knight, 

Rich both of golde and fee. 

But if it be false, sir Aldingar, 

As God nowe grant it bee ! 
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood, 

Shall hang on the gallows tree. 

He brought our king to the queenes chamber, 

And opend to him the dore. 
A lodlye love, king Harry says, 

For our queene dame Elinore ! 

If thou were a man, as thou art none, 

Here on my sword thoust dye ; 
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built, 

And there shalt thou hang on bye. 

Forth then hyed our king, I wysse, 

And an angry man was hee ; 
And soone he round queene Elinore, 

That bride so bright of blee. 

Now God you save, our queene, madame, 

And Christ you save and see ; 
Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, 

And you will ha? e none of mee. 



10 



15 



SO 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



• He probably lntionttes Out toe king tomld heal aim by 
Us power of toaebjBgfor the Kms/i BvU. 



If you had chosen a right good knight, 

The lesse had been your shame: 
But you have chose you a laser many 

A laser both blinde and lame. 60 

Therfore a fyer there shall be built, 

And brent all shah thou b ee . 
" Now out alacke ! said our oomly queene, 

8ir Aldingar's false to mee. 

Now out alacke ! savd our comlye queene, 65 

My heart with gnefe will brast. 
I had thought swevens had never been true ; 

I have proved them true at last. 

I dreamt in my sweven on thuraday eve, 
In my bed wheras I lave, 70 

I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast 
Had carryed my crowne awaye ; 

My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, 

And all my faire head-geere ; 
And he wold worrye me with his tush 75 

And to his nest y-beare * 

Saving there came a little ' gray' hawke, 

A merlin him they call, 
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, 

That dead he downe did mil. 80 

Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, 

A battell wold I prove, 
To fight with that traitor Aldingar ; 

Att him I cast my glove. 



■ 



But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 
My liege, grant me a knight 

To fight with that traitor sir Aldingar, 
To maintains me in my right." 



85 



«« 



Now forty dayes I will give thee 
To seeke thee a knight therin : 
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes 
Thy bodye it must brenn." 

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, 

By north and south bedeene : 
But never a champion colde she find, 

Wolde fight with that knight soe keene. 

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, 
Noe helpe there might be had ; 

Many a teare shed our comelye queene 
And aye her hart was sad. 

Then came one of the queenes damselles, 

And knelt upon her Jmee, 
" Cbeare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, 

I trust yet helpe may be : 

And here I will make mine avowe, 
And with the same me binde ; 

That never will I return to thee, 
Till I some helpe may finde/ 



90 



95 



100 



105 



M 



Then forth she rode on a faire pelfiruye 

Oer hill and dale about : 
But never a champion colde she finde, 

Wolde fighte with that knight so stout. 



110 



Ver.77, see below, vcr. 137. 




And nowe the day© drewe on a pace, 
When our good qneene must dye ; 

All woe-begone was that fair© ^■■"ffrllft, 
When she found no helpe was nye. 



115 



All woe-begone was that fail* ,—.-.»,. ^, 
And the salt teares fell from her ere : 

When lo ! as she rode by a rivers side. 
She met with a tinye boye. 

A tinye boye she mette, God wot, 

All clad in mantle of golde ; 
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse, 

Then a childe of four yeere olde. 

Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, 
And what doth cause you moane 1 

The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke s 
But rest she pricked on. 

Yet turn againe, thou faire damselle, 
And greete thy queene from mee : 

When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, 
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. 

Bid her remember what she dreamt 
In her bedd, wheras shee laye ; 

How when the grype and the grimly beast 
Wolde hare carried her orowne awaye, 

Even then there came the little gray hawke, 
And sayed her from his clawes : 

Then bidd the qneene be merry at hart, 
For heaven will fende her cause. 

Back then rode that faire damselle. 

And her hart it lept for glee : 
And when she told her gracious dame 

A gladd woman then was shea. 

But when the appointed day was come, 

No helpe appeared nye : 
Then woeful, woeful was her hart, 

And the teares stood in her eye. 

And nowe a fyer was built of wood J 

And a stake was made of tree ; 
And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led, 

A sorrowful sight to see* 

Three times the herault he wared his hand. 

And three times spake on hye : 
Giff any good knight will fenae this dame, 

Come forth, or shee must dye. 



lfO 



125 



150 



135 



140 



145 



150 



155 



No knight stood forth, no knight there came, 

No helpe appeared nye : 
And now the fyer was lighted up. 

Queen Elinor she must dye. 160 

And now the fyer was lighted up, 

As hut as hot might bee ; 
When riding upon a little white steed, 

The tinye boy they see. 

" Away with that stake, away with those brands, 
And loose our oomelye queene : 16€ 

I am come to fight with 8ir Aldingar, 
And prove him a traitor keene." 



Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar, 

But when he saw the chylde, 170 

He laughed, and scoffed and turned his backe. 

And weened he had been beguylde. 



" Now tame, nowturne thee, Aldingar, 

And eytber fighte or flee ; 
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 

Though I am so small to see." 

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde 

So gilt it dazzled tbe ee ; 
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar 

Smote off his leggs by the knee. 

" Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor, 

And fight upon thy feete, 
For and thou thrive, as thou begin 'st, 

Of height wee shall be meete." 

A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 

While I am a man alive. 
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 

Me for to houxle and shrive. 

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene, 
Bot shee wolde never consent ; 

Then I thought to betraye her unto our 
In a fyer to have her brent. 

There came a lazar to the kings gates, 
A lazar both blind and lame ; 

I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 
And on her bedd had aim layne. 

Then ranne I to our comlye king, 

These tidings sore to telL 
But ever alacke ! saves Aldingar, 

Falsing never doth well, 

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame, 

The short time I must live, 
" Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, 

As freely I forgive.* 

Here take thy queene, our King Harryd, 

And love her as thy life, 
For never had a king in Christentye, 

A truer and fairer wife. 

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene, 

And loosed her full aone ; 
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ; 

—The boye was vanisht and gone. 

But first he had touohd the lazar 
And stroakt him with his hand : 

The lazar under the gallowes tree 
All whole and sounde did stand. 



The lazar under the gallowes tree 
Was comelye, straight and tall; 
King Henrye made him his head stewarde 



To weyte withinn his hall. 






175 



JfiO 



185 



190 



195 



100 



«05 



tlO 



2lo 



2*C 



*** 



,04 



THE OA BKRLUNZIS MAN. 



X. 
THE GABERLUNZIE MAN. 



A SCOTTISH BONO. 



Tradition informs as that the author of thia song 
la King James V. of Scotland. Thia prince 
(whose character for wit and libertinism bears a 
great resemblance to that of his gay successor 
Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his do- 
minions in disguise*, and for his frequent gallantries 
with country girls. Two adventures of this kind he 
hath celebrated with his own pen, vis. in this ballad 
of " The Gaberlunzie Man ;" and in another, entitled 
" The Jolly Beggar/* beginning thus : 

" Thair was a jollie beggar, and a begging he was 

boun, 
And he tuik up his quarters into a land* art toun. 

Fa, la, la, &c" 

It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which 
was too licentious to be admitted into this collection) 
that is meant in the Catalogue of Royal and Noble 
Authors t> where the ingenious writer remarks, that 
there is something very ludicrous in the young wo- 
man's distress when she thought her first favour had 
been thrown away upon a beggar. 

Bishop Tanner has attributed to James V. the 
celebrated ballad of " Christ's Kirk on the Green," 
which is ascribed to King James I. in Bannatyne's 
MS. written in 1568: and notwithstanding that 
authority, the editor of this book is of opinion that 
Bishop Tanner was right. 

King James V. died Dec 15th, 1542, aged 33. 

The pauky auld Carle came ovir the lee 
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee, 
Saying, Goodwife, for sour courtesie, 

Will se lodge a silly poor man 1 
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 5 

And down asout the ingle he sat; 
My dochters shoulders he gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

O wow ! quo he, were I as free, 

As first when I saw this countrie, 10 

How Myth and merry wad 1 bee I 

And I wad nevir think lang. 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld minny ken 
Whatthir alee twa togither were ssy'n, 15 

When wooing they were sa thrang. 

And O ! quo he, ann se were as black. 
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat, 
Tis I wad lay thee by my back, 

And awa wi* me thou sould gang. 10 

And O I quoth she, ann 1 were as white, 
As evir the snaw lay on the dike, 
lid dead me braw, and lady-like, 

And awa with thee lid gang. 

Between the twa was made a plot ; 25 

They raise a wee before the cock, 
And wyliely they shot the lock, 



• k. of a linker, beggir, &c Thus be used to visit a 
miithS ddtifchtur ml Nidury, uvar Edinburgh. 

♦ Vol. II. p. 303. 



And fast to the bent are they gansw 
Up the morn the auld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30 

8yne to the servants bed she gaes 
To speirfor the silly poor man* 

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay. 

The strae was cauld, he was away, 

She clapt her bands, cryd, Duleiu' day 1 55 

For some of our geir will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
But nought was stown that could be mist. 
She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest. 

I have lodgd a leal poor man. 40 

Since nsithings awa, as we can learn, 

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn, 

Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn. 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 45 

The sheets was cauld, she was away, 
And fast to her goodwife can say, 

Shes aff with the gaberlunsie-maiu 



O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, 

And hast se, find these traitors agen ; 

For shees be burnt, and heea be skin. 

The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man, 
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit, 
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit ; 
8he could na gang, nor yet could she sit. 

But ay did curse and did ban* 



55 



Mean time far hind out owre the lee, 
For snug in a glen, where nane could see, 
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 
The priying was gude, it pleas d them baitb, 
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith. 
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith, 

My winsome gaberlunzie-man. 

O kend my minny I were wi' sou, 
Illfardly wad she crook her mou, 
•Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow, 

Afhr the gaberlunxie-mon. 
My dear, quo he, zee're set owre songe ; 
And l»ae na learnt the beggars tonge, 
To follow roe frae toun to toun, 

And carrie the gaberlunsie on. 



60 



65 



70 



Wi' kauk and keel, 111 win sour bread, 

And spindles and whorles for them wba need 

Wbilk ia a gentil trade indeed t& 

The gaberlunsie to carrie— o. 
IB bow my leg and crook my knee. 
And draw a black clout owre my ee, 
A criple or blind they will can me: 

While we sail sing and be merrie 



Yer. 19. The Carline. Other eopica. 



ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 



105 



XI. 
ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 



It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be 
fonaken by his friends, and insulted by his enemies, 
always reckoning among the latter the giddy incon- 
stant multitude. We have here a spurn at fallen 
greatness from some angry partisan of declining 
Popery, who could never forgive the downfall of 
their Diana, and loss of their craft The ballad 
seems to hare been composed between the time of 
Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, June 11, 
1540, and that of his being beheaded July t8, follow- 
ing. A short intenrall but Henry's passion for 
Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Not- 
withstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excel- 
lent qualities : his great fault was too much obse- 
quiousness to the arbitrary will of his master ; but 
let it be considered that this master had raised him 
from obscurity, and that the high-born nobility bad 
shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile 
compliance. — The original copy printed at London 
in 1540, is intitled, " A newe ballade made of Thomas 
Crumwel, called Trolle on away." To it is prefixed 
this distich by way of burthen, ' 

Trolle on away, trolle on awave. 

8ynge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away. 

Both man'and chylde is glad to here tell 
Of that false traytoure Thomas Cromwell, 
Now that he is set to learne to spelL 

Synge trolle on away. 

When fortune lokyd the in thy face, 
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace ; 
Thy eofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace. 6 

Synge, Ate 

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst, 
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst, 
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thingeswere 
myst 

Synge, &c 

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes,10 
Thy marchanndyse sayled over the sandes, 
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes. 

Synge, fico. 



Fyrste when kynge Hi 
Perceyud myschefe k 
Then it was tyme to p 




, God saue his grace 1 
' in thy face, 

the a place. 15 

Synge, dec. 



Hys grace was euer of genrvll nature, 
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys serayture ; 
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure. 

Synge, &c 

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke, 
One God, one myth, and one kynge catbolyke, 
for thou hast bene to long a scysmatyke. 

Synge, &c« 



Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre ; 
But euer was full of iniquita: 
Wherfore all this lande bathe ben troubled with the. 

Synge, &c 

Aft they, that were of the new t/yeke, f 5 

Agaynst the ohurche thou beddest them styctre; 
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke. 

Synge, &c 

Bothe saorsmentes and sacramentalles 
Thou woldyst not suffice within thy walles ; 
Nor let re praye lor all ohrysten soules. SO 

Synge, etc. 

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell, 
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell, 
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell. 

Synge, &o. 

Tho woldest neuer to rertue applye, 

But couetyd euer to clymme to bye, 55 

And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye. 

Synge, &c 

Who-ao-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose ; 
Wherfore all £nglande doth hate the, as I suppose. 
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose. 

Synge, Ace. 

Thou myghtest hare learned thy cloth to uocke 40 
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke ; 
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke. 

Synge, &c 

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought, 
And for thy earcas care thou nought, 
Let it suffire payne, as it hath wrought 45 

Synge, &c 

God saue kyng Henry with all his power. 
And prynce Edwarde that goodly nowre. 
With al hys lordes of great honour*. 

Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away* 
Ilevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye. 

f*t The foregoing Piece gave rise to a poetic 
controversy, which was carried on through a suc- 
cession of seven or eight Ballads written for end 
against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved 
in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large 
folio Collection of Proclamations, &c, make in the 
reigns of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI., 
Queen Mary, Queen Elisabeth, King James I, &c 



Ter. ft, L e. Cain or Ishmael. V. 41. Cromwell's father la 
generally said to have been a bUrksmith at Putney : hat 
the Mthor of this Ballad wmM Inalosate that cither he bio> 
■elf or tome of hit ancestor* were Fellers by trade. 



106 



HARPALUS. 



XII. 
HARPALUS. 



A» ANCIENT ENOUSH PASTORAL. 



This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first at- 
tempt at pastoral writing in our language, is pre- 
served amongthe " Songs and Sonnettes" of the Earl 
of Surrey, «c 4to, in that part of the collection, 
which consists of pieces by " Uncertain Auctours." 
These poems were first published in 1557, ten years 
after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the 
tyranny of Henry VIII, but it is presumed most of 
them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas 
Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to, foL 19, 
49. 

Though written perhaps near half a century before 
the " Shepherd's Calendar*/' this will be found fer 
superior to any of those Eclogues, in natural un- 
affected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy 
flow of versification, and all other beauties of pasto- 
ral poetry. Spenser ought to hare profited more by 
so excellent a model. 

Phylida was a faire mayde, 

As fresh as any flowre ; 
Whom Harpalus the Herdman prayde 

To be his paramour. 

Harpalus, and eke Corin, 5 

Were herdmen both yfere : 
And Phylida could twist and spinne, 

And thereto sing full clere. 



But Phylida was all to coye, 

For Harpalus to winne : 
For Corin was her onely joye, 

Who font her not a pinne. 

How often would she flowers twine? 

How often garlandes make 
Of couslips and of colombine? 

And al for Conn's sake. 

But Corin, he had haukes to lure, 
And forced more the field : 

Of lovers lawe he toke no cure j 
For once he was begilde. 

Harpalus prevailed nought, 

His labour all was lost ; 
For he was fardest from her thought, 

And yet he loved her most. 

Therefore wazt he both pale and leane, 

And drye as clot of clay : 
His fleshe it was consumed cleane • 

His colour gone away. 

His beard it had not long be shave ; 

His heare hong all unkempt : 
A man most fit even for the grave. 

Whom spitefull love had spent. 



• Pint pnblhhed In 1579. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



His eyes were red, and all ' forewacht' ; 

His face besprent with teares : 
It semde unhap had him long ' hatchf, . , 55 

In mids of his dispaires. 

His clothes were blacke, and also bare j 

As one forlorne was he ; 
Upon his head alwayes he ware 

A wreath of wyllow tree. 40 

His beastes he kept upon the byll, 

And he sate in the dale ; 
And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril, 

He gan to tell his tale. 

Oh Harpalus ! (thus would he say) 45 

Unhappiest under sunne ! 
The cause of thine unhappy day. 

By love was first begunne. 

For thou wentest first by sute to seeke 

A tigre to make tame, 50 

That settes not by thy love a leeke ; 
But makes thy griefe her game. 

As easy it were for to convert 

The frost into ' a' flame ; 
As for to turne a frowarde bert, 65 

Whom thou so mine wouldst frame. 

Corin he liveth carelesse : 

He leapes among the leaves : 
He eates the frutes of thy redresse : 

Thou 'reapst', he takes the sheaves. 60 

My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine, 

And harke your herdmans sounde ; 
Whom spitefull love, alas ! hath slaine, 

Through-girt with many a wounde. 

happy be ye, beastSs wilde, 65 
That here your pasture takes : 

1 se that ye be not begilde 

Of these your faithfull makes. 

The hart he feedeth by the hinde : 

The bucke harde by the do : 70 

The turtle dove is not unkinde 

To him that loves her so. 

The ewe she hath by her the ramme ; 

The young cow hath the bull : 
The calfe with many a lusty lambe 75 

Do fede their hunger fuU. 

But, wel-away ! that nature wrought 

The, Phylida, so faire : 
For I may say that I have bought 

Thy beauty all to deare. 8C 

Ver. 88, &c The Correction* are from Ed. 1874. 



ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 



107 



What reason is that crueltie 
With beautie should have part 1 

Or els that such great tyranny 
Should dwell in woman* hart? 

I aee therefore to shape my death 

She cruelly is prest ; 
To th' ende that I may want my breath : 

My dayes been at the best. 

O Cupide, graunt this my request, 
Ana do not stoppe thine eares, 

That ahe may feele within her brest 
The paine8 of my dispaires : 



80 



90 



Of Corin ' who' is carelesse, 
That she may crave her fee : 

As I have done in great distresse. 
That loved her faithfully. 

But since that I shal die her slave ; 

Her slave, and eke her thrall : 
Write you, my frendea, upon my grave 

This chaunce that is befall. 

" Here lieth unhappy Harpalus 

By cruell love now slaine : 
Whom Phylida unjustly thus 

Hath murdred with disdaine." 



95 



100 



XIII. 
ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 

AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL. 



The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a 
contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. 
The critics will judge of their respective merits ; but 
must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, 
which is given simply, as it stands in the old 
editions: whereas this, which follows, has been re- 
vised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from 
whose " Ever-Green," Vol. L it is here chiefly, 
printed. The curious Reader may however com- 
pare it with the more original copy, printed among 
" Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George 
Bannatyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, ISmo." Mr. Robert 
Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this Poem) 
appears to so much advantage among the writers of 
eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other 
account of him besides what is contained in the fol- 
lowing eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish 
poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th 
century: 

" In Dumferlmg, he [Death] hath tane Broun, 
With gude Mr. Robert Henryson." 

Indeed some little further insight into the history 
of this Scottish bard is gained from the title pre- 
fixed to some of his poems preserved in the British 
Museum ; vis. " The morall Fabillis of Esop com- 
pylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of 
Dumfermling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865. $. 1. 

In Ramsay's " Ever-Green," VoL I. whence the 
above distich is extracted, are preserved two other 
little Dorio pieces by Henryson ; the one intitled 
" The Lyon and the Mouse ;" the other " The 
Garment of Gude Ladyis." Some other of his Poems 
may be seen in the " Ancient Scottish Poems 
printed from Bannatyne's MS." above referred to. 

Robin sat on the gude grene hill, 

Keipand a flock of fie, 
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, 

" O Robin rew on me : 
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still, 5 

Thir towmonds twa or thre ; 
My dole in dern bot giff thou dill, 

Doubtless but dreid 1U die," 



Robin replied. Now bv the rude, 
Naithing of luve I knaw. 

But keip my sheip undir yon wod 
Lo quhair they raik on raw. 



10 



Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude, 

Thou Makyne to me schaw ; 
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude ? 15 

Fain wald I leir that law. 



" The law of luve gin thou wald leir, 

Tak thair an A, B, C ; 
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, 

Wyse, hardy, kind and fhe, fO 

See that nae danger do the deir, 

Quhat dule in dern thou drie ; 
Press ay to pleis and blvth appeir, 

Be patient and privie. 

Robin, he answert her againe, tS 

I wat not quhat is luve ; 
But I haif marvel in certaine 

Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe. 
The wedder is fair, and I am fain ; 

My sheep gais hail abuve ; 50 

And sould we pley us on the plain. 

They wald us baith repruve. 

" Robin, tak tent unto my tale, 

And wirk all as I reid ; 
And thou sail, haif my heart all hale, 35 

Eik and my maiden-heid : 
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale, 

And for murning remeid, 
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale. 

Doubtless I am but deid." 40 



Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde, 

Gif ye will meit me heir, 
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde, 

Quhyle we have hggd full neir j 
But maugre haif I, gif I byde, 45 

Frae thny begin to steir, 
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, 

Then Makyne mak gude cheir. 



Vcr. 10, Banaatyae'i MS. reads at above, heyad, 
keynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770. V. SI, So Out no das 
gen Bannatyne'i MS. 



r 



108 



GENTLE HERDSMAN. 




" Robin, tbott reirs me of my rest ; 

I lure bot thee alane." 50 

Makyne, adieu t the tun goes west, 

The day is neir-hand gane. 
44 Robin, in dule I am so drest, 

That lure will be my bane," 
Mykyn, gae lure quhair-eir ye list, 55 

For leman I lnid nane. 

" Robin, I stand in sic a style, 

1 rich and that full sair/ 
Makyne, I hare bene here this quyle ; 

At heme I wish I were. 60 

" Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle, 

Gif thou will do nae mair.*' 
Makyne, som other man beguyle, 

For hameward I will fare. 

Syne Robin on his ways he went, 65 

As light as leifon tree ; 
But Makyne murnt and made lament, 

8cho trow'd him neir to see. 
Robin he brayd attowre the bent : 

Then Makyne cried on hie, 70 

" Now may thou sing, for 1 am shent ! 

Quhat ailis lure at me V 

Makyne went heme withonten fail. 

And weirylie could weip ; 
Then Robin in a full (air dale 75 

Assemblit all his sheip. 
Be that some part of Makyne's ail, 

Out-throw his heart could creip ; 
Hir fast he followt to assail. 

And till her tnke gude keip. 80 

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, 

A word for ony thing ; 
Far all my lure, it sail be thyne, 

Withouten departing. 
All hale thy heart for till hare myne, 85 

Is all my eoreting ; 
My sheip to morn quhyle houris Dyne, 

Will need of nae keiping. 



•« Robin, thou hast heard song and say. 

In gests and storys auld. 
The man that will not when he may, 

Sail hare nocht when he weld. 
I pray to hearen baith nicht and day, 

Be eiked their cares sae cauld, 
That presses first with thee to play 

Be forrest, firth, or frnM." 

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, 

The wether warm and fair, 
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by, 

To walk attowre all where : 
There may nae janglera us espy, 

That is in lure contrair j 
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I 

Unseen may mak repair. 

" Robin, that warld is now away, 

And quyt brocht till an end : 
And nerir again thereto, perfay, 

Sail it be as thou wend ; 
For of my pain thou made bat play ', 

I words in rain did spend : 
As thou hast done, sae sell I say, 

Mum on, I think to mend." 

Makyne, the hope of all my heil. 

My heart on thee is set ; 
111 erermair to thee be ltdl, 

Quhyle I may lire but lett, 
Nerer to fail as uthers feill, 

Quhat jrrace so eir 1 get. 
Robin, with thee I will not deiH ; 

Adieu, for this we met," 

Makyne went hameward blyth enough, 

Outowre the holtis hair ; 
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne lengh ; 

Scho sang;, and he aicbt sair : 
And so left him bayth wo and wrench, 

In dolor and in care, 
Keipand his herd under a bench, 

Amang the rushy gair. 



100 



105 



110 



115 



120 



125 



XIV. 



GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN. 



The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near 
YValsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an 
image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe 
for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and tne 
great riohes it possessed. Erasmus has given a rery 
exact and humorous description of the superstitions 
practised there in his time. (See his account of the 
" Virgo Parathalassia," in his colloquy, intitled, 
" Peregrinatio Religionis Erpo." He tells us, the 
rich offerings in silrer, {gold, and precious stones, 
that were there shewn bun, were incredible, there 
being scarce a person of any note in England, but 
what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a pre- 
sent to " Our Lad y of Walsingham*." Atthedisso- 

* 8ce at the end of this Ballad an account of the agonal 
osTcriDgi of the Earls of Northumberland, 



ration of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid 
image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to 
Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commis- 
sioners ; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and 
the finery. 

This poem is printed from a copy in the editor's 
folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of 
time ; but vestiges of sereral of the lines remaining 
some conjectural supplements hare been attempted, 
which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad 
distinguished by italics. 



Ter. 09, Bannatrne'i MS. hat wold, not wood, as In 1 
1770. Y. 117, Bannatyne's MS. read* m above fettl, m 
fiuU, as in Ed. 1770. 



GENTLE HERDSMAN. 



W 



10 



SO 



Gsmtlb heardsman, tell to me, 

Of cutesy I thee pray, 
Unto the towne of Walsingham 

Which is the light and ready way. 

M Unto the towne of Walsingham 

The way is hard for to be goo ; 
And Terry crooked are those pathes 

For yon to find out all alone." 

Weere the miles doubled thrise, 

And the way never soe ill, 
Itt were not enough for mine offence j 

Itt is soe grievous and soe ill. 

•» Thy yeearesere young, thy (ace is (aire, 
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene ; 

Time hath not siren thee leave, aajrett, 15 

For to committ so great a sinne. 

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say, 

If thou knewest soe much as I ; 
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest, 

Hare well deserred for to dye. 

I am not what I seeme to bee, 

My clothes and sexe doe differ arr. 

I am a woman, woe is me ! 

Bom to greeffe and irksome care. 

For my beloved, and well-beloved, 15 

Uy wayward cruelty could kill : 
And though my teares will nought avail, 

Meet dearely I bewail him still. 

Be wot ike flower of noble wights, 

None ever more sincere eolde bee ; 
Of comely mien and shape hee was, 

And tenderlye hee loved mee. 

When tkut 1 taw he loved me well, 

I grewe so proud his pains to see, 
That I, who did not know myselfe. 

Thought teorne of such a youth as hee. 

•And grew soe coy and nice to please, 

As women's lookes are often soe, 
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth, 

Unlesselwilledhimsoetodoe. 40 



50 



35 



• Three of the following stansas have been finely para- 
phrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in hit charming ballad of 
"Edwin and Emma;" the reader of taste will have a plea- 
ia comparing them with the original. 

'And' still I try*d each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain; 
And while hia passion tovch'd my heart, 

I trinmph'd in his pain. 

710 qvite dejected with my scorn 

He left me to my pride; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 

la secret, where be dar'd. 



Thus being weary ed with delayes 

To see lpittyed not his greeffe. 
He gott him to a seorett place, 

And there he dyed without releefte. 

And for his sake these weeds I wears, 45 

And sacrifice my tender age ; 
And every day Ilebeeg my bread, 

To undergo this pugrimage. 

Thus every day I fast and pray, 

And ever will doe till I dye j 50 

And gett me to some secrett place, 

For soe did hee, and soe will I. 

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no mora. 
But keepe my secrett* I thee pray t 

Unto the towne of Walsingham 55 

Show me the right and readye way* 

" Now goe thy wayes, and God before 1 

For he must ever guide thee still : 
Turne downe that dale, the right band path, 

And soe, faire pilgrim, fere thee well I" 

%• To show what constant tribute was paid to 
" Our Lady of Walsingham," I shall give a tew ex- 
tracts from the " Houshold-Book of Henry Algernon 
Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland.*' Printed 1770, 
8vo. 

Sect XLIU. page 857, &c 

Itkm, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas 
for his Lordsehip's Offerynge to our Lady of 
Walayngebsm^-tsu d. 

Inn, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende 
yerely for the upholdvuse of the Light of Wax 
which his Lordschip ryndith birnynge yerly befor 
our Lady of Walsynghsm, oontenynge ej lb. of 
Wax in it after vy 4 ob. for the ryndynge of every 
lb. redy wrought by a oovenaunt maid with the 
Channon by great, tor the hole yere, for the fynd- 
inge of the said Lyght hymning,— vi s. vuy d. 

Itsm, My Lord usith and accustomith to syende 
yerely to the Channon that kepith the Light before 
our Lady of Walsyngham, for his reward for the 
hole yere, for kepynge of the said Light, Ughrynge 
of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere,— 
<9 d. 

Item, My Lord usith and accustomyth yerely to 
send to the Prest that kepith the Light, lyghtynge 
of it at all service tymes daily thorowt the yere,-* 
ty s. up d. 



Bat mine the sorrow, mine the fasti 
And well my life shall pay ; 

111 seek the solitude he sought, 
And stretch me where belay. 

And there forlorn despairing hid; 

111 lay me down and die: 
Twas so for me that EdwiadM, 
o for him will L 



110 



KINO EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



XV. 
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OP TAMWORTH. 



Was a story of great fame among our ancestors. 
The author of the " Art of English Poesie," 1589, 
4to. seems to speak of it as a real fact — Describing 
that vicious mode of speech, which the Greeks 
called Acyron, i. e. " When we use a dark and 
obscure word, utterly repugnant to that we should 
express;" he adds, "Such manner of uncouth 
speech did the Tanner of Tamworth use to long 
Edward the Fourth ; which Tanner, having a great 
while mistaken him, and used very broad talke with 
him, at length perceiving by his traine that it was 
the king, was afraide he should he punished for it, 
[and] said thus, with a certain rude repentance, 

" I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow, 

" for [I fear* me] I thall be hanged ; whereat the 
king laughed a good*, not only to see the Tanner's 
vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen tonne : 
and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the 
inheritance of Plumpton-parke. ' I am afraid/ " con- 
cludes this sagacious writer, " ' the poets of our 
times that speake more finely and correctedly, will 
come too short of such a reward/ " p. 214. — The 
phrase here referred to, is not found in this ballad 
at present t, hut occurs with some variation in ano- 
ther old poem, intitled " John the Reeve/' described 
in the following volume, (see the Preface to " the 
King and the Miller/') viz. : 

" Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace, 
And Edward wer in this place, 

Hee ahold not touch this tonne : 
He wold he wroth with John I hope, 
Thereffore I heshrew the soupe. 

That in his mouth ahold come." Pt t . st 24. 

The following text is selected (with such other 
•corrections as occurred) from two copies in black 
letter. The one in the Bodleyan library, intitled, 
" A merrie, pleasant, and delectable historic be- 
tween* King Edward the Fourth, and a Tanner of 
Tamworth, etc printed at London, by John Danter, 
1596." This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to 
nave been modernised and altered at the time it was 
published ; and many vestiges of the more ancient 
readings were recovered from another copy, (though 
more recently printed,) in one sheet folio, without 
date, in the Pepys collection. 

But these are both very inferior in point of anti- 
quity to the old Ballad of "The King and the 
rW(er," reprinted with other " Pieces of Ancient 
Popular Poetry from Authentic Manuscripts, and 
old Printed Copies, &c Lond. 1791, 8vo. As that 
very antique Poem had never occurred to the Editor 
of the Reliques,till he saw it in the above collection, 
he now refers the curious Reader to it, as an imper- 
fect and incorrect copy of the old original Ballad. 

In summer time, when leaves grow greene, 

And blossoms bedecke the tree, 
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde, 

Some pastime for to see. 

r Vtf« Gloat. 

tNai is ttat of the Barker mentioned below. 



With hawke and hounde he made him bowne, 
With home, and eke with bowe ; 

To Drayton Basset he tooke his wave. 
With all his lordes a rowe. 

And he had ridden ore dale and downe 

By eight of clocke in the day, 
When he was ware of a bold tanner. 

Come ryding along the waye. 

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on 

Fast buttoned under his chin, 
And under him a good cow-hide, 

And a mare of four shilling*. 

Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all* 

Under the grene wood spraye ; 
And I will wend to yonder fellowe, 

To weet what he will saye. 

God speede, God speede thee, said our king. 

Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee. 
" The readyest waye to Drayton Basset 

I praye thee to ahewe to mee." 



10 



15 



V) 



" To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 
Fro the place where thou dost stand T 

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto, 
Turne in upon thy right hand." 

That is an unreadye wave, sayd our king, 

Thou doest but jest I see ; 
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye, 

And I pray the wend with mee. 



25 



SO 



Awaye with a vengeaunce ! quoth the tanner : 

I hold thee out of thy witt: 
All daye have I rydden on Brooke my mare, 55 

And I am fasting yett 

" Go with me downe to Drayton Basset, 

No daynties we will spare ; 
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best, 

And I will paye thy fere/' 40 

Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde, 

Thou payest no fare of mine : 
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse, 

Than thou hast pence in thine. 



God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 
And send them well to priefe. 

The tanner wolde fame have beene away, 
For he weende he had beene a thiefe. 



45 



• In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecffi, lady of Tor- 
boke, in her will, dated March 7, A.D. 1406, among many 
other beqaesti, haa this, " Alio I will that my sonne Thoroaa 
of Torboke have 18a. 44. to bay him an hone." Vld. Har- 
leian Catalog. S176. 317— Now if 18a. 44. would porchaae a 
•teed lit for a person of quality, • tanner's hone mlfht rea 
aonably be valued at four or live ■hillings. 



If 



— . t 



KINO EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAM WORTH. 



111 



What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellowe, 
Of thee I am in great feare, 50 

For the cloathes, thou weareat upon thy becke. 
Might boaoomo a lord to weave* 

1 never atole them, quoth our king. 

I tell you, air, by the roode. 
" Then thou playeat, aa many an nnthrift doth, 55 

And atandeat in midda of thy goode*." 

What tydingea heare you, aayd the kynge, 

As yon ryde farre and neare 1 
" I heare no tydingea, air, by the masse, 

But that cowe-hides are deare." 60 

'• Cowe-hides ! cowe-hides ! what things are those 1 

I marrell what they beet" 
What art thou a foole T the tanner replyM ; 

I carry one under mee. 

What craftsman art thou, said the long, 65 

I praye thee tell me trowe. 
M I am a barkerf, sir, by my trade ; 

Nowe tell me what art thou 1" 

I am a poore courtier, air, quoth he, 

That am forth of service worne ; 70 

And faine I wolde thy prentise bee, 

Thy cunninge for to learne. 

Marrye hearen forfend, the tanner repryde, 
* That thou my prentise were : 
Thou woldst spend more good than I ahold winne 
By fortye shilling a yere. 76 

Yet one thing wolde I, sayd our king, 

If thou wilt not aeeme strange : 
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare, 

Yet with thee I mine wold change. 80 

" Why if with me thou faine wQt change, 

As change roll well mays wee. 
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude felldwe, 

I will hare some boot of thee." 

That were against reason, sayd the king, 85 

I sweare, so mote I thee : 
My horse is better than thy mare. 

And that thou well mayst see. 

" Yea, air, bat Brocke is gentle and mild, 

And softly she will fere : 90 

Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss ; 
Aye skipping here and theare." 

What boote wilt thou hare t our king replyM ; 

Now tell me in this stouncL 
" Noe pence, nor halfpence, by my faye, 

But a noble in gold so round." 95 

" Here's twentye groates of white moneys 

8ith thou will hare it of mee." 
I would hare sworne now, quoth the tanner, 

Thou hadst not had one pennM. 100 

Bat since we two hare made a change, 

A change we moat abide, 
Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare, 

Thou gettest not my cow-hide. 

•Le.hu no other wealth, bat what taoa cairkst about 

ee. 

t L a. a dealer in Berk. 



I will not hare it, sayd the kynge, 105 

I sweare, so mought 1 thee; 
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare, 

If thoa woldst give it to mee. 

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide. 
That of the cow was hilt ; 110 

And threwe it upon the king's sadelle, 
That was soe myrelye gilte. 

" Now help me up, thou fine fellowe, 

'Tis time that 1 were gone : 
When I come home to Grllian my wife, 115 

The king he tooke him up by the legge; 

The tanner a f»* lett fall. 
Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng. 

Thy eonrteeye is but small. ISO 

When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle. 

And his foote in his stirrup was; 
He marvelled greatlye in his minde, 

Whether it were golde or brass. 

But when his steede saw the cows taOewagge, 1J5 

And eke the blacke cowe-horne ; 
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he rsnne, 

Aa the derill had him borne. 



The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat, 

And held by the pummU fast: 
At length the tanner came tumbling downe; 

His necke he had well-nye brast* 



ISO 



Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd, 

With mee he shall not byde, 
" My horse wolde have borne thee wellenoughe, 135 

Bat he knewe not of thy cowe-hide* 

" Yet if sgayne thoa faine woldst change, 

As change full well may wee, 
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner, 

I will have some boote of thee." 140 

What boote wilt thon have, the tanner replyd, 

Nowe tell me in this stounde? 
"Noe pence nor halfpence, air, by my faye,. 

Bat I will have twentye pound." 



ti 



145 



Here's twentye mates ont of my purse ; 
And twentye I have of thine : 
And I have one more, which we will spend 
Together at the wine." 



The king set a bugle home to his montbe, 
And blewe both loude and'ahrille : 150 

And soone came lords, and soone came knights, 
Faat ryding over the hille. 

Nowe, out alas ! the tanner he cryde, 

That ever I sawe this dsye ! 
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thyfellowea 

Will beare my cowe-hide away. 156 

They are no thieves, the king replyde, 

1 sweare, soe mote I thee : 
Bat they are the lords of the north ©ountrSy, 

Here come to bant with mee. 160 



lit 



AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND 



And spone before our king they came, 
And knelt downe on the grounds : 

Then might the tanner hare beene awaye, 
And had lever than twentye pounde. 

A ooUer, a coller, here : sayd the king, 

A ooUer he loud gan crye : 
Then would* he lerer then twentye pound, 

He had not beene so nighe. 

A coller, a ooUer, the tanner he sayd, 
I trowe it will breed sorrowe : 

After a coller commeth a halter, 
I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrowe. 



165 



170 



Be not afraid tanner, said oar ! 

1 tell thee, so monght I thee, 
Lo here I make thee the beat esquire 

That is in the North oountrie*. 

For Plumpton-parke I will pjve thee. 
With tenements mire beside : 



17b 



'Tit worth three hundred market by the yeare, 
To maintain* thy good oowe-bide. 18C 



Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde, 
For the favour thou hast me showne ; 

If ever thou oomest to merry Tamwdrth, 
Neates leather shall clout thy sboen. 



XVI. 
AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND* 



StALOOUK BITWZXH * PILGEIX AHD TBAYBLLIB* 



Tnx scene of this song is the same as in Num. 
XIV. The pflgranam to Walsingham suggested 
the plan of many popular pieces. In the Pepys col- 
lection, toL I. p. 226, is s kind of interlude in the 
old balled style, of which the first stansn alone is 
worth reprinting. 

As I went to Walsingham, 

To the shrine with speeds, 
Met I with a jolly palmer 

In apflgrimes weede. 
Now God yon tare, you jolly palmer t 

"Welcome, lady gay, 
Oft have I sued to thee for love." 

—Oft have I said you nay. 

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion, 
were often productive of affairs of gallantry, and led 
the votaries to no other shrine than that of Venus*. 

The following ballad was once very popular ; it it 
ouoted in Fletcher's " Knight of the burning pestle," 
Act IL so. ult and in another old play, called, " Hans 
Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy, &c" 4to. 1618: 
Act I. The copy below was communicated to the 
Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected by 
him from an ancient copy, and supplied with a con- 
cluding stansa. 

We have placed this, and " Gentle Herdsman," 
&c thus early in the works, upon s presumption 
that they mutt have been written, if not before the 
dissolution of the monasteries, yet while the remem- 
brance of them was fresh in the minds of the 
people. 

As ye came from the holy land 

Of blessed Walsingham, 
O met you not with my true lore 

As by the way ye came? 

M How should I know your true love, 5 

That have met many a one, 
As I came from the holy land, 

That have both come, and gone t n 

• Even in the time of Langland, pilgrimages to WaUog- 
ham were not unfavourable to the rites of Yeses. Thai In 
bis Visions of Pierce Plowman, fo. 1. 

* Uennets on a heape, with boked staves, 
Wtatea to Walsingham, and serf wenches after.* 

tie. their. ^ 



My love is neither white*, nor browns. 
Bat as the heavens frire; 1C 

There is none hath her form divine, 
Either in earth, or tyre. 

** Such an one did I meet, good sir, 

With an angelicke free ; 
Who like a nymphe, s queens appeard 15 

Both in her gait, her grace." 

Yes : she hath cleans forsaken me. 

And left me all alone ; 
Who some time loved me as her life, 

And called me her owns* fO 

" What is the cause she leaves thee thus, 

And a new way doth take. 
That some times loved thee as her life, 

And thee her joy did make?" 

I that loved her all my youth, 15 

Growe old now as you see ; 
Love liketh not the falling finite, 

Nor yet the withered tree. 

For lore is like a carelesse childe, 

Forgetting promise past: SO 

He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list ; 

His frith is never fast. 

His fond desire is fickle found, 

And yieldes s trustlesse ioye ; 
Wonne with a world of toil and care, Sb 

And lost ev'n with a toye. 

• This stanta is restored from a quotation of this Ballad 
in Selden's " Titles of Honour," who prodnees It as a good 
authority to prove, that one mode of creatine Branlres at 
" - Mis 



that time, was by the imposition of a collar. _ _ 

are, " Nor la that old pamphlet of the tanner of Tamworth 
and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, bat that wee 
may thence note also an observable parage, wherein the 
ate of making Esqvirea, by giving eollara, is expressed. M 
(Sab Tit. Bsqaire ; * vide in Spelmannl Oloasar. ArinJger.) 
This form of creating Esquires actually exists at this day 
among the Sergeants at Arms, who are invested with a 
collar (which they wear on Collar Days) by the King 
himself. 

This Information I owe to Samoel Pern, Esq. fo whom 
the Pabilc is indebted for that cortoos work, the "Carialla* 

f sepals. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



Such is the lore of wonianfcinde. 
Or Loves faire name abusde, 

Beneathe which many raine desires, 
And follyea are exclude. 



40 



• But true love is a lasting fire, 
Which viewless vestals * tend, 

That burnes for ever in the soule. 
And khowes nor change, nor end,' 



113 



XVII. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



a Scottish nuonnrr. 



As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally 
past for ancient, it is here thrown to the end of our 
earliest pieces j that such as doubt of its age, may 
the better compare it with other pieces of genuine 
antiquity. For after all, there is more than reason 
to suspect, that it owes most of its beauties (if not 
its whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within the 

5 resent century. The following particulars may be 
epended on* Mrs. Wardlaw, wnose maiden name 
was Halket (sunt to the late 8ir Peter Halket, of 
Pitferran, in Scotland, who was killed in America, 
along with General Bradock, in 1755), pretended 
she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, 
employed for what is called the bottoms of clues. 
A suspicion arose that it was her own composition. 
8ome able judges asserted it to be modern. Tbe 
ladv did in a manner acknowledge it to be so. 
Being; desired to shew an additional stansa, as a 
proof of this, she produced the two last, beginning 
with " Ther€$ na§ light," &c. which were not in the 
copy that was first printed. The late Lord President 
Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Miuto (late Lord 
Justice Clerk for Scotland) who had believed it 
ancient, contributed to tbe expence of publishing the 
first Edition, in folio, 17 19. This account was trans- 
mitted from Scotland by 8ir David Dalrymple, the 
late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion, that part 
of tbe ballad may be ancient ; but retouched and 
much enlarged by the lady above mentioned. In- 
deed he had been informed, that the late William 
Thompson, the Scottish musician, who published the 
" Orpheus Caledonius," 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared 
he bad heard Fragments of it repeated in his infancy, 
before Mrs. WaroUaw p s copv was heard o£ 

The Poem is here printed from tbe original 
Edition, as it was prepared for the press with the 
additional improvements. (See below, page 116.) 

i. 

Statslt stept he east the wa', 

And stately stept he west, 
Full seventy years he now had seen, 

Wi' scarce seven years of rest. 
He liv'd when Britons breach of faith 6 

Wrought Scotland mickle wae : 
And ay his sword tauld to their cost, 

He was their deadlye foe. 



n. 



High on a hill his castle stood, 

With ha's and tow'rs a height 
Andgoodly chambers fair to se, 

Where he lodged mony a knight. 
His dame aae peerless sues and fair, 

For chast and beauty deem'd 
Nae marrow had in all the land, 

Save Elenor the queen.. 



10 



15 



m. 



Full thirteen sons to him she bare, 

All men of valour stout : 
In bloody figbt with sword in hand 

Nine lost their lives hot doubt : fO 

Four yet remain, lang may they live 

To stand by liege and land ; 
High Was their fame, high was their might, 

And high was their command. 

IT. 

Great lore they bare to Fairly fair 25 

Their sister Baft and dear, 
Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp, 

And gowden glist her hair. 
What waefu' wae her beauty bred ? 

Waefu* to young and auld, 3 

Waefu.' I trow to kyth and kin, 

As story ever tauld. 

▼. 

The King of Norse in summer tyde, 

PuflPd up with pow'r and might, 
Landed in lair Scotland the isle 35 

With mony a hardy knight. 
The tydings to our good Scots king 

Came, as he sat at dine, 
With noble chiefs in brave aray, 

Drinking the blood-red wine. 40 

VI. 

" To horse, to horse, my royal liege, 

Your foes stand on the strand, 
Full twenty thousand glittering spears 

The King of Norse commands." 
Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, 45 

Our £ood king rose and cry d, 
A trustier beast in a' the land 

A Scots king nevir try'd. 

Go little page, tell Hardyknute, 

That lives on hill sae hie, 50 

To draw bis sword, the dread of faes, 

And haste and follow me. 
The little pare flew swift as dart 

Flung by his master's arm, 

Come, down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 55 

And rid your king frae harm." 



u 



Then red red grew his dark brown cheeks, 
Sae did his dark-brown brow ; 

His looks grew keen as they were wont 
In dangers great to do ; 

• sc Angel*. 



114 



HARDYKNUTE. 



■ k 



He's ta'en a horn as green as glass, 
And gi*en five sounds sae shill, 

That trees in green wood shook thereat, 
Sae loud rang ilka MIL 

IX. 

His sons in manly sport and glee. 

Had past that summer's morn, 
When low down in a grassy dale, 

They heard their father's horn. 
That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace, 

We're other sport to bide. 
And soon they hy'd them up the hill, 

And soon were at his side. 



" Late late the yestreen I ween'd in peace 

To end my lengthened life, 
My age might well excuse my arm 

Free manly feats of strife, 
But now that Norse do's proudly boast 

Fair Scotland to inthrall. 
It's ne'er be said of Hardy knute, 

He fear'd to fight or fall. 



65 



70 



75 



80 



" Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, 

Thy arrows shoot sae leel, 
That mony a comely countenance 

They've turned to deadly pale. 
Brade Thomas take you but your lance, 

You need nae weapons mair. 
If you fight wi't as you did anes 

Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir 

xn. 

" And Malcolm, light of foot as stag 

That runs in forest wild, 
Get me my thousands three of men 

Well bred to sword and shield : 
Bring me my horse and harnisine, 

My blade of mettal clear. 
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 

They soon had fled for fear. 

xm. 

" Farewell my dame sae peerless good, 

(And took her by the hand), 
Fairer to me in age you seem, 

Than maids for beauty fam'd 
My youngest son shall here remain 

To guard these stately towers, 
And shut the silver bolt that keeps 

Sae fast your painted bowers." 

SIT. 

And first she wet her comely cheiks, 

And then her boddice green, 
Her silken cords of twirtle twist, 

Well plett with silver sheen ; 
And apron set with mony a dice 

Of needle-wark sae rare, 
Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, 

Save that of Fairly fair. 

xv. 

.And he has ridden o'er muir and moss, 
O'er hills and mony a glen, __ 

When he came to a wounded knight' 
Making a heavy mane ; 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



" Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, 
By treacherie's false guiles ; 

Witless I was that e'er ga faith 
To wicked woman's smiles. 19 



1*0 



XVI. 



" Sir knight, gin you were in my bower, 

To lean on silken seat, 
My lady's kindly care you'd prove, 

Who ne'er knew deadly hate • 
Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, 

Her maids a dead of night ; 
And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, 

As she stands in your sight. 

xvn. 

" Arise young knight, and mount your stead 

Full lowns the shynand day : 
Choose frae my menzie whom ye please 

To lead you on the way." 
With smileless look, and visage wan 

The wounded knight reply'd, 
" Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, 

For here I maun abyde. 



its 



130 



135 



To me nae after day nor night 

Can e're be sweet or fair, 
But soon beneath some draping tree, 

Cauld death shall end my care." 
With him nae pleading might prevail j 

Brave Hardyknute to gain 
With fairest words, and reason strong, 

Strave courteously in vain. 

six. 

Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er 

Lord Chattan's land sae wide ; 
That lord a worthy wight was ay 

When faes his courage sey'd ; 
Of Piotish race by mother's side, 

When Picts rul'd Caledon, 
Lord Chattan olaim'd the princely maid, 

When he sav'd Pictish crown. 

xx« 

Now with his fierce and stalwart tram, 

He reach 'd a rising hight, 
Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 

Norss menzie lay in sicht 
" Yonder my valiant sons and feirs 

Our raging rovers wait 
On the uneonquert Scottish sward 

To try with us their fete. 

XXI. 

Make orisons to him that sav'd 

Our sauls upon the rude ; 
Syne bravely shaw your veins are fill'd 

With Caledonian blude." 
Then furth he drew his trusty glare, 

While thousands all around 
Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun ; 

And loud the bougies sound. 



140 



145 



150 • 



155 



160 



165 



To joyn his king adoun the hill 

In hast his merch he made, 
While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit 

Afore him stately Btrade. 



170 






sn 



HARDYKNUTE* 



115 



m Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir, 
Tby nations shield and pride ; 

Thy king nae reason has to fear 
When thou art by his side." 



175 



XXIII. 



When hows were bent and darts were thrawn ; 

For throng scarce con'd they flee ; 
The darts clove arrows as they met, 

The arrows dart the tree. 180 

Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce, 

With little skaith to mon, 
But bloody bloody was the field. 

Ere that lang day was done. ' 

XXIV. 

The King of Scots, that sindle brook'd 185 

The war that look'd like play, 
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow. 

Sin bows seem'd but delay. 
Quoth noble Rothsay, " Mine 1*11 keep, 

I wat it's bled a score. 190 

Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king 

As he rode on before. 

xxv. 

The King of Norse he sought to find. 

With him to mense the ftuight, 
But on his forehead there did light 195 

A sharp unsonsie shaft : 
As he his hand put up to feel 

The wound, an arrow keen, 
O waefu' chance ! there pinn'd his hand 

In midst between his een. 200 

XXVf. 

" Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir. 

Your mail-coat aha' na bide 
The strength and sharpness of my dart : " 

Then sent it through his side. 
Another arrow well he mark'd, 205 

It piere'd his neck in twa, 
His hands then quat the silver reins, 

He low as earth did fa*. 

xxvn. 

" Sanr bleids my liege, sair, fair he bleeds 1" 

Again wi' might he drew 210 

And gesture dread his sturdy bow, 

Fast the braid arrow flew : 
Wae to the knight he ettled at ; 

Lament now Queen Elgreed ; 
High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215 

His youth and comely meed. 

1 XXVTJI. 

" Take aff, take aff his costly iupe 

(Of gold well was it twin'd, 
Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk, 

His steelly harness shin'd) 220 

Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid 

Him venge the blood it bears ; 
Say, if he nice my bended bow, 

He sure nae weapon fears." 

XXIX. 

Proud Norse with giant body tall, 225 

Braid shoulders and arms strong, 
Cry'd, " Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd 

And fear'd at Britain's throne : 



Tho' Britons tremble at his name 

I soon shall make him wail, 
That e'er my sword was made sae sharp, 

Sae salt his coat of mail." 



230 



That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide, 

It lent him youthfu' micht : 
" I'm Hardyknute ; this day, he cry'd, 235 

To Scotland's king I heght 
To lay thee low, as horses hoof; 

My word I mean to keep." 
Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake, 

He garr'd his body bleed. 240 

XXXI. 

Norss' een like gray gosehawk's sta ir'd wyld, 
He sigh'd wi' shame and spite ; 



245 



250 



255 



Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm 

That left thee power to strike :" 
Then ga' his bead a blow sae fell, 

It made him doun to stoup, 
As laigh as he to ladies us'd 

In courtly guise to lout. 

xtxn. 

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body. 

His bow he marvell'd sair, 
Sin blows till then on him but darrM 

As touch of Fairly fair : 
Norse marvell'd too as sair as he 

To see his stately look ; 
Sae soon as e'er he strake a fee. 

Sae soon his life he took. 

xx xm. 

Where like a fire to heather set 

Bauld Thomas did advance, 
Ane sturdy fee with look enragM 

Up toward him did prance ; 
He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks 

The hardy youth to quell, 
Wha stood unmov'd at his approach * 

His fury to repell. 

xxxir, 

" That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm*d,265 

Looks like poor Scotlands gear. 
But dreadfull seems the rusty point !" 

And loud he leugh in jeer. 
" Oft Britons bood has aimm'd its shine ; 

This point cut short their vaunt :" 
Syne piere'd the boasters bearded cheek ; 

Nae time he took to taunt 



250 



270 



XXXV. 

Short while he in his saddle swang, 

His stirrup was nae stay, 
Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 

Sure taiken he was fey : 
Swith on the harden 't clay he fell, 

Right far was heard the thud : 
But Thomas look't nae as he lay 

Ail waltering in his blud : 

XXXVI. 

With careless gesture, mind unmov't. 
On roade he north the plain ; 

His seem in throng of fiercest strife, 
When winner ay the same : 

i 2 



275 






116 



HARDYKNUTE: 



Not ret his heart dames dimplet cheek 285 

Could mease soft leve to bruik, 
j | Till vengefu' Ann return *d his acorn, 
Then languid grew his luik. 

xxxvn. 

In thraws of death, with walowit cheik. 

All panting on the plain, 290 

The fainting corps of warriours lay, 

Ne're to arise again ; 
Ne're to return to native land, 

Nae mair with blithsome sounds 
To boast the glories of the day, 295 

And ahaw their shining wounds* 

xxxvru. 

On Norways coast the widowit dame 

May wash the rocks with tears. 
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas 

Before her mate appears. 300 

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain ; 

Thy lord lyes in the clay ; 
The valiant Scots nae rovers thole 

To carry life away. 

xxxrx. 

Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305 

Set up for monument, 
Thousands fu* fierce that summer's day 

Fill'd keen war's black intent. 
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute, 

Let Norse the name ay dread, 310 

Ay how he (aught, aft how he spar'd 

Shall latest ages read. 

XL. 

Now loud and chill blew th' weitlin wind, 

Sair beat the heavy shower, 
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 

Wan near his stately tower. 
His tow'r that us'd wi torches blaze 

To shine see far at night, 
Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, 

Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320 

xu. 

" There's nae light in my lady's bower, 

There's nae light in my ha ; 
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, 

Nor ward stands on my wa' 
" What bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say ;"— 325 

Nae answer fitts their dread. 
"Stand back, my sons, lie be your guide V 

But by they past with speed. 

xui. 

''As fast I've sped owre Scotlands files,"— 
There ceas'd his brag of weir, 330 

Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame, 
And maiden Fairly fair. 

Black fear he felt, but what to fear 
He wist nae yet ; wi' dread 



Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 
And a' the warrior fled. 



335 



• • 



In an elegant publication, intitled, '* Scottish 
Tragic Ballads, printed by and for J. Nichols, 1781, 
8vo," may be seen a continuation of the Ballad of 
Hardyknute, by the addition of a " Second Part," 
which hath since been acknowledged to be his own 
composition, by the ingenious Editor — To whom the 



late 8tr D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent to 
the account drawn up above in p. 113.) extracts of 
a letter from Sir John Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord 
Binning, which plainly proves the pretended dis- 
coverer of the fragment of Hardyknute to have been 
Sir John Bruce himself. His words are, " To per- 
form my promise, I send you a true copy of the 
Manuscript I found some weeks afro in a vault at 
Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic 
character, but so much defaced by time, as you'll 
find that the tenth part is not legible." He then 
gives the whole fragment as it was first published in 
1719, save one or two stanzas, marking several pas- 
sages as having perished by being illegible in the 
old MS. Hence it appears that Sir John was the 
author of Hardyknute, but afterwards used Mrs. 
Wardlaw to be the midwife of his Poetry, and sup- 
pressed the story of the vault ; as is well observed 
by the Editor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's 
Scot. Poets, vol. I. p. cxxvii. 

To this gentleman we are indebted for the use of 
the copy, whence the second edition was afterwards 

5 tinted, as the same was prepared for the press by 
ohn Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh, an intimate com- 
panion of Lord President Forbes. 

The title of the first edition was, " Hardyknute, a 
Fragment Edinburgh, printed for James Watson, 
&c 1719." folio, 12 pages. 

8tansas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18. 
20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42. 

In the present impression the orthography of Dr. 
Clerk's copy has been preserved, and his readings 
carefully followed, except in a few instances, 
wherein the common edition appeared preferable: 
via. He had in ver. 20. but — v. 56. of harm, — v. 64. 
•very. — v. 67. lo dawn.— v. 83. That omitted. — v. 89. 
And omitted. — v. 143. With mrgument but vainly 
strove Lang. — v. 148. say*d. — v. 155. inoampit on the 
plain.— v. 156. None squadron*. — v. 158. regand re- 
vert. — v. 170. his stride* he bent. — v. 171. minstraU 
play and Pibroch* fine. — v. 172. stately went. — v, 182. 
mon*—r. 196. thorp and fataL — v. 219. which. — v. 
241. stood wyld. — Stansa 39 preceded stania 38. — 
v. 305. There. — v. 313. blew wrestling. — v. 336. had 
originally been, He fear d a' coud befear'd. 

The editor was a&o informed, on the authority ol 
Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh (son of the 
aforesaid Dr. John Clerk,) that between the present 
stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been in 
tended, but were on maturer consideration omitted 
and do not now appear among the MS. additions ; 

Now darts flew wavering through slaw speede, 

Scarce could they reach their aim ; 
Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew, 

'Twas all but shot in vain : 
High strengthy arms forfeebled grew, 

Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils : 
E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace, 

And cur'd war's cruel broils. 

Yet stilll wars horns sounded to charge, 

Swords clash 'd and harness rang ; 
But saftly sae ilk blaster blew 

The bills and dales fraemang. 
Nae echo heard in double dints, 

Nor the lang-winding horn, 
Nae mair she blew out brade as she 

Did eir that summers morn. 



» 



TUB END OP BOOK THE FIBBT. 



±c 



r 



A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 117 



SERIES THE SECOND. 



BOOK IL 



I. 

A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN, 



In the former Book we brought down this second 
Series of poems as low as about the middle of the 
sixteenth century. We now find the Muses deeply 
engaged in religious controversy. The sudden re- 
volution wrought in the opinions of mankind by the 
Reformation, is one of the moat striking events in 
the history of the human mind. It could not but 
engross the attention of every individual in that age, 
and therefore no other writings would have any 
chance to be read, but such as related to this grand 
topic. The alterations made in the established reli- 
gion by Henry VIII., the sudden changes it under- 
went in the three succeeding reigns within so short 
a space as eleven or twelve years, and the violent 
struggles between expiring Popery and growing 
Protestantism, could not but interest all mankind. 
Accordingly every pen was engaged in the dispute. 
The followers of the Old and New Profession (aa 
they were called) had their respective ballad-makers ; 
ana every day produced some popular sonnet for or 
against the Reformation. The following ballad, and 
that intitled " Little John Nobody," may serve for 
specimens of the writings of each party. Both were 
written in the reign of Edward VI. ; and are not the 
worst that were composed upon the occasion. Con- 
troversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet 
this ballad of " Luther and the Pope," is not altoge- 
ther devoid of spirit ; it is of the dramatic kind, and 
the characters are tolerably well sustained ; espe- 
cially that of Luther, which is made to speak in a 
manner not unbecoming the spirit and courage of 
that vigorous reformea It is printed from the ori- 
ginal black-letter copy (in the Pepvs collection, 
vol. I. folio,) to which is prefixed a large wooden 
cut, designed and executed by some eminent master. 

We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of 
that age should be inspired with the zeal of contro- 
versy, when the very stage teemed with polemic 
divinity. I have now before me two very ancient 




time 

called 

Edward VI. * In the former of these, occasion is 

taken to incultate great reverence for old mother 

church and her superstitions* : in the other, the 



• Take a 
priesthood. 



specimen from hit high encomiums on the 



" There is bo emperour, kyng, dnke, nc baron 
That of God hath commissyon, 
As hath the ieesf preest in the world bcynge. 



poet, (one R. Wever) with great success attacks 
both. So that the stage in those days literally was, 
what wise men have always wished it — a supple- 
ment to the pulpit : — this was so much the case, that 
in the play of " Lusty Juventus," chapter and verse 
are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon ; 
take an instance : 

* The Lord by his prophet Esecbiel sayeth in this 

wise playnlye. 
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere : 
Be converted, O ye children, &c' 

From this play we learn that most of the young 
people were New Gospellers, or friends to the Re- 
formation, and that the old were tenacious of the 
doctrines imbibed in their youth : for thus the devil 
is introduced lamenting the downfal of superstition : 

" The olde people would believe stil in my lawes, 
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way, 
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say. 
In olde traditions, and made by men, ficc" 

And in another place Hypocrisy urges, 

" The worlde was never men 
Since chyldren were so boulde: 
Now every boy will be a teacher, 
The father a foole, the chyld a preacher.'' 

Of the plays above mentioned, to the first is sub- 
joined the following, Printer's Colophon, f " Thus 
endeth this moral playe of Every Man. f Im- 
prynted at London in Powlea chyrche yarde by me 
John Skot" In Mr. Garrick's collection is an 
imperfect copy of the same play, printed by Richarde 
Pynson. 

The other is intitled, *' An enterlude called Lufty 
Juventus:" and is thus distinguished at the end: 

God hath to them more power gyven, 

Than to any anngell, that Is in hewn ; 

With v. words he may consecrate 

Guddes body in flcsshe, and blode to take, 

Aud handeleth his maker bytweue his hand**. 

The preest byndeth and onbindeth ali bandes. 

Both in erthe and in heven. — 

Thon ministers all the sacramentes seven. 

Thoogh we kyst thy fete tboo were worthy ; 

Thon art the sorgyan that coreth synne dedfy : 

No remedy may we fynde under God, 

Bat alone on preesthode. 

— — God gave preest that dignity, 

And letteth them in his stede among* as be, 

Thns be they above anngels in degre." 

See Hawkins's Orig. of JSng. Drama Vol. I. p. 01. 



18 A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 



1 



• Finis, quod R. Wever. Imprynted at London in 
Paules churche yeard bv Abraham Dele at the eigne 
of the Lambe. Of this too Mr. Garrick has an 
imperfect copy of a different edition. 

Of these two plays the reader may find some fur- 
ther particulars in Series the First, Book II. see 
" The Essay on the Origin of the English Stage ;" 
and the curious reader will find the plays themselves 
printed at large in Hawkins's " Origin of the English 
Drama," 3 vols. Oxford, 1773, ISmo. 

THE HUSBANDMAN. 

Let us lift up our hartes all, 

And prayse the Lordes magnificence. 

Which hath given the wolues a fall, 
And is become our strong defence : 
For they thorowe a false pretens 5 

From Christes bloude dyd all us leade*, 
Gettynge from every man his pence, 

As satiafactours for the deade. 

For what we with our Flayles coulde get 
To kepe our house, and survauntes ; 10 

That did the Freers from us fet, 
And with our soules played the merchauntes : 
And thus they with theyr false warrantes 

Of our sweate have easelye ly ved, 

That for fatness* theyr belyes pantes, 15 

So greatlye have they us deceaueo. 

They spared not the fatberlesse, 

. The careful], nor the pore wydowe ; 

They wolde have somewhat more or lesse, 
If it above the ground did growe : f 

But now we husbandmen do knowe 

Al their subteltye, and theyr false caste ; 
For the Lorde hath them overthrowe 

With his swete word now a* the laste. 

Doctor Martin Luther. 

Thou antichrist, with thy thre crotvnes, 25 

Has usurped kynges powers, 
As having power over realmes and townes, 

Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres 

Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours 
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppress ; 30 

As do the deceatful foulers. 
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse. 

Thou flatterest every prince, and lord, 

Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre ; 

All tliose, thit do followe Gods worde, 35 

To make them cleve to thy desire, 
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire ; 

Cursing with boke, bell, and candeH, 
Such as to reade them hare desyre, 

Or with them are wyllynge to meddelL 40 

Thy false power wyl I bryng down. 
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere, 

I shall dryve the from citye and towue, 
Even with this pen that thou seyste here : 



• 1. e. denied as the Cap, see below, vcr. M. 



Thou fvghtest with swerd shylde, and speare 45 
But I wvll fyght with Gods worde ; 

Which is now so open and cleare, 
That it shall brynge the under the borde •• 

The Pope. 

Though I brought never so many to hel. 

And to utter dampnacion, 50 

Throughe myne ensample, and consel, 
Or tnorow any abhominacion, 
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion* 

And thou, Luther, arte accursed ; 

For blamynge me, and my condicioo, 55 

The holy decres have the condempned. 

Thou stryvest against my purgatory, 
Because thou findest it not in scripture; 

As though I by myne auctorite 

Myght not make one for myne honour©. 60 
Knowest thou not, that I have power 

To make, and mar, in heaven and hell. 
In ertb, and erery creature 1 

Whatsoever I do it must be well 

As for scripture, I am above it ; Co 

Am not I Gods hye vicare ? 
Shulde I be bounde to followe it. 

As the carpenter his ruler f t 

Nay, nay, hereticks ye are, 
That will not obey my auctoritie. 70 

With this sworde I wyll declare. 
That ye shal al accursed be. 

The Cardinal. 

1 am a Cardinall of Rome, 

Sent from Christes hye vicary, 
To ?raunt pardon to more, and sume, 76 

TLat wil Luther resist strongly : 

He is a greate hereticke treuly, 
And rpgardeth to much the scripture ; 

For he thinketh onely thereby 
To subdue the popes high honours * 80 

Receive ye this pardon devoutely, 
And loke that ye agaynst him fight ; 

Plucke up your herts, and be manlye, 
For tlie pope sayth ye do but ryght : 
And this be sure, that at one flygbte, 85 

All though ye be overcome by chaunce, 
Ye shall to heaven go with greate royghte ; 

God can make you no resistaunce. 

But these heretikes for their medlynge 

Shall go down to hel every one ; 90 

For they have not the popes blessynge, 

Nor regard his holy pardon : 

They thinke from all destruction 
By Christes bloud to be saved, 

Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 95 

Therefore shall they al be dampned. 



h 

i 



• i. e. Make thee knock tinder the table. 
1 1, e. L'is rule. 






LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



119 



II. 
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 



A Scottish BONO. 



While in England verse was made the rehicle of 
controversy, and Popery was attacked in it by 
logical argument, or stinging satire; we may be 
sure the seal of the Scottish Reformers would not 
suffer their pens to be idle, but many a pasquil was 
discharged at the Romish priests, and their enormous 
encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps 
is the following, (preserved in Maitland's MS 
Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian 
library :) 

" Tak a Wobster, that is leill, 
And a Miller, that will not steill, 
With ane Priest, that is not gredy, 
And lay ane deid corpse thame by, 
And, throw virtue of thame three, 
That deid corpse sail qwyknit be." 

Thus far all was fair: but the furious hatred of 
Popery led them to employ their rhymes in a still 
more licentious manner. It is a received tradition 
in Scotland, that at the time of the Reformation, 
ridiculous and obscene songs were composed fto be 
sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite 
hymns in the Latin service, j Green sleeves and pud- 
dmg pies (designed to ridione the popish clergy) 
is said to have been one of these metamorphosed 
hymns : Maggy Lauder was another : John Ander- 
son my jo was a third. The original music of all 
these burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a 
specimen of their manner, we have inserted one of 
the least offensive. The Reader will pardon the 
meanness of the composition for the sake of the 



anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the 
times. 

In the present Edition this song i» much im- 
proved by some new readings communicated by a 
friend ; who thinks by the " Seven Bairns," in st. 
2d. are meant the Seven Sacraments ; five of which 
were the spurious offspring of Mother Church : as 
the first stanza contains a satirical allusion to the 
luxury of the popish clergy. 

The adaptation of solemn church music to these 
ludicrous pieces, and the jumble of ideas, thereby 
occasioned, will account for the following facu— 
From the Records of the General Assembly in 
Scotland, called, " The Book of the Universal Kirk," 
p. 90, 7th July, 1568, it appears, that Thomas Bas- 
sendyne, printer in Edinburgh, printed " a psalme 
buik, in tne end whereof was found printit ane 
bandy sang, called ' Welcome Fortunes •' . 

WOMAN. 

John Anderson my jo, cum in as se gae bve, 
And se sail get a sheips heid weel taken in a pre ; ' 
Weel taken m a pye, and the haggis in a pat ; 
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get that. 

MAN. 

And how doe se, Cummer ? and how hae se tbreven t 
And how mony bairns hae se 1 Wom. Cummer, I hae 

seven. 
Man. Are they to zour awin gude man ? Wom. Na, 

Cummer, na ; 
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa'. 



III. 



LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



We have here a witty libel on the Reformation 
under King Edward VI. written about the year 
1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection, British 
Museum, and Strype's Memoirs of Cranmer. The 
author artfully declines entering into the merits of 
the cause, and wholly reflects on the lives and 
actions of many of the reformed. It is so easy to 
find flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, 
even the best of them, and still easier to make gene- 
ral exclamations about the profligacy of the present 
times, that no great point is gained by arguments of 
that sort, unless the author could have proved that 
the principles of the reformed religion had a natural 
tendency to produce a corruption of manners ; 
whereas he indirectly owns, that their Reverend 
Father [Archbishop Cranmer] had used the most 
proper means to stem the torrent, by giving the people 
access to the Scriptures, by teaching them to pray 
with understanding, and by publishing homilies, 
and other religious tracts. It must however be 



acknowledged, that our libeller had at that time 
sufficient room for just satire. For under the ban- 
ners of the reformed had enlisted themselves, many 
concealed papists, who had private ends to gratify ; 
many that were of no religion ; many greedy 
courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the 
church; and many dissolute persons, who wanted 
to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures : and 
as these men were loudest of all others in their 
cries for Reformation, so in effect none obstructed 
the regular progress of it so much, or by their 
vicious lives brought vexation and shame more on 
the truly venerable and pious Reformers. 

The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist 
for alliteration : in this he was guilty of no affecta- 
tion or singularity ; his versification is that of 
Pierce Plowman's Visions, in which a recurrence of 
similar letters is essential : to this be has only 

• See also Biograph, B*anu Ut. edit. vol. i p. 177- 



r 



1*0 



QUEEN EUZABETH'8 VERSES. 



superadded rhyme, which in hia time began to be 
the general 'practice. 8ee an Essay on thia very 
peculiar kind of metre, prefixed to Book 111. in this 
Series. 

In december, when the dayea draw to be abort, 
After november, when the nights wax noysome and 

long; 
As I past by a place privily at a port, 
1 saw one sit by himself making a song : 
His last * talk of trifles, who told with hia tongue 
That few were mat i' th' frith. I ' freyned t that 

freake, [wrong. 

Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him 

He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not 

speake. 

John Nobody, quoth I, what news 1 thou soon note 

and tell 
What maner men thou meene, thou are so mad. 
He said, These gay gallants, that wil construe the 

gospel, 
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad ; 
To digcusse divinity they nought adread ; 
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke. 
Thou lyeat, quoth 1, thou losel, like a leud lad. 
Idle said he was little John Nobody, that durst not 

apeake. 

Its meet for every man on this matter to talk, 
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind ; 
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk, 
Aa boyea babble in books, that in scripture are blind : 
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find ; 
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke : 
Such caitivea count to be come or Cains kindf ; 
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake. 

For our reverend father hath set forth an order, 
Our service to be said in our aeignoura tongue ; 
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture ; 
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song, 
With homilies, and godly hooka ua among, 
That no stiff, stubborn stomacka we should freyke : 
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong ; 
But that I little John Nobody dare not apeake. 



For bribery was nerer so great, since born was our 

Lord, [rowed hel. 

And whoredom was nerer les hated, aith Christ har- 
And poor men are so. sore punished commonly 

through the world, ftel. 

That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear 
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts 

be so que], [wreake ; 

That if a man do amiase, with mischiefe they wil him 
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and 

fell: 
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake. 

Thus to live after their lust, that life would they 
And in lechery to leyke al their long life ; [have, 
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud 
knave [wife 

Wil more mischiefe in their mind both to maid and 
To bring them in advoutry or else they wil strife, 
And in brawling about baudery, Gods command- 
ments breake : [thrife ; 
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do 
Though I little John Nobody dare not apeake. 

If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp, 

and not care [naught : 

According to their foolish fantacy ; but fast wil they 
Prayer with them is but prating ; therefore they it 

forbear : (thought : 

Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their 
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud 

us bought, [freyke 

That he wil mend that is amies : for many a manful 
la sorry for these sects, though they say little or 

nought ; [speake. 

And that I little John Nobody dare not once 

Thus in mo place, this Nobody, in no time I met, 
Where no man, ' ne*' nought was, nor nothing did 

appear; 
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett, 
That ' Aeolus t' through the eccho did cause me to 

hear. 
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the 

dumb deer [freyke : 

Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted from a 

For I would no wight in this world wist who I were, 

But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake. 



#» 



IV. 
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK, 

WRIT WITH CHARCOAL ON A SHUTTER, 



preserved by Hentzner, in that part of his 
Travels, which has been reprinted in so elegant a 
manner at Strawberry-hill. In Hentzner's book 
they were wretchedly corrupted, but are here given 
as amended by hia ingenious Editor. The old 
orthography, and one or two ancient readinga of 
Hentzner's copy are here restored. 



state 



Oh, Fortune ! how thy restlesse wavering sta 
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt ! 

• Perhaps He left talk. t feigned MSS. and P. O. 

X Cain's kind.] So In Pierce the Plowman'* creed, the 
proud friars are said to be, 

M Of Caymet kind." TkL Slg. C. Ij. b. 



Witnes this present prisonn. whither fate 

Could beare me, and the joys I quit. 
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed J 

From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed : 
Causing the gu ltles to be atraite reserved, 
And freeing those that death hath well deserved. 
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte, 
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 

Elizabeths, Prisonneb. 



A.D.MDLV. 



Ver 4, Could beare, is an ancient Idiom, equivalent to 
Did bear or Hath borne. See below Ike Beggar Bednal 
Green, ver. 57, Could say. __ 

• then, MSS. and PC. t Hercules, MS. and PC. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



Ui 



V. 
THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



The original of this Ballad is found in the Editor's 
folio MS. the breaches and defects in which, rendered 
the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. 
These it is hoped the Reader will pardon, as indeed 
the completion of the story was suggested by a 
modern ballad on a similar subject. 

From the Scottish phrases here and there dis- 
cernible in this poem, it would seem to hare been 
originally composed beyond the Tweed. 

The Heir of Linne appears not to hare been a 
Lord of Parliament, but a Laird, whose title went 
ilong with his estate. 

PART THB FIRST* 

Lrrns and listen, gentlemen, 

To sing a song I will beginne : 
Tt is of a lord of faire Scotland, 

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne 

His father was a right good lord, 5 

His mother a lady of hi?h degree ; 

But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, 
And ne loy'd keeping companie. 

To spend the daye with merry cheare, 

To drinke and revell every night, 10 

To card and dice from eve to morne, 
It was, I ween, his hearts delights, 

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, 

To alwaye spend and never spare, 
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15 

Of gold and fee he mote be bare. 

Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne 
Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 

And he maun sell his landes so broad, 
His house, and landes, and all his rent. SO 

His father had a keen stewarde, 
And John o' the Scales was called hee i 

But John is become a gentel-man, 
And John has gott both gold and fee. 

Saves, Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne. f 5 
Let nought disturb thy merry cbeere ; 

Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, 
Good store of gold He give thee heere 

illy gold is gone, my money is spent , 
My lande nowe take it unto thee : 30 

Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales. 
And thine for aye my lande shall bee. 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he cast him a gods-pennie* ', 

But for every pounde that John agreed, 55 

The lande, I wis, was well worth three. 

He. earnest-money ; from the French ' Denier k Dleo/ 
Ac this day, when application Is made to the Dean and 
• Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant 
! under one of their leases, a piece of silver Is presented by 
> the new tenant, which U still called a Ood's-penny. 



He told him the gold upon the horde. 

He was right glad his land to winne j 
The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now He be the Lord of Linne. 

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad. 
Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, 

All but a poore and lonesome lodge, 
That stood fax off in a lonely glenne. 

For soe he to his father bight. 

My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee, 
Then thou wih spend thy lande so broad, 

And thou wilt spend thy gold so free: 

But sweare me nowe upon the roode. 
That lonesome lodge thoult never spend ; 

For when all the world doth frown on thee, 
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend. 

The heire of Linne is full of golde : 

And come with me, my friends, sayd hee, 

Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee. 

They ranted, drank, and merry made, 
Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; 

And then his friendes they slunk away; 
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 

He had never a penny left in his purse, 

Never a penny left but three, 
And one was brass, another was lead, 

And another it was white money. 

Nowe well-aday, sayd the Heire of Linne, 
Nowe wefl-adaye, and woe is mee. 

For when I was the Lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 

But many a trustye friend have I, 
And why ahold I feel dole or care t 

He borrow of them all by turnea, 
Soe need I not be never bare. 

But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had payd his gold away ; 
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 

And bade him sharpely wend his way. 

Now well-aday, sayd the heire of linne, 
Now well-aday, and woe is me ; 

For when I had my landes so broad, 
On me they liv'd right merrilee. 

To beg my bread from door «o do*. 

1 wis, it were a brenniog shame 
To rob and steal it were a Bi«.i»e : 

To worke my limbs I cannot frainav 

Yer. 68, 4, 5, Ac Sic MS. 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



TO 



95 



SO 



1«S 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



Now He away to lonesome lodge, 
For there my father bade me wend : 

When all the world should frown on mee 
I there ahold find a trusty friend. 

PART THE SECOND. 

Away then hyed the heire of Linne 
Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne, 

UntUl he came to lonesome lodge, 
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. 

He looked up, he looked downe, s 
In hope some comfort for to winne : 

But hare and lothly were the walles. 
Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of linne. 

The little windowe dim and darke 
Was hung with ivy, hrere, and yewe ; 

No shimmering sunn here ever shone ; 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, ne table he mote spye, 
No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed, 

Nought save a rope with renning noose. 
That dangling nung up o'er his head. 



85 



10 



15 



25 



SO 



And over it in broad letters, 

These words were written to plain to see : 
" Ah t graceless© wretch, hast spent thine all 

And brought thyselfe to penuriei SO 



" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, 
And all thy shame and sorrows end. ' 

Sorely shent wi* this rebuke, 

Sorely shent was the heire of Linne ; 

His heart, I wis, was near to brast 

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. 

Never a word spake the heire of Linne, 
Never a word he spake but three : 

" This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto mee." 

Then round his necke the corde he drewe, 
And sprang aloft with his bodie : 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine. 
And to the ground come tumbling bee. 

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne, 
Ne knewe if he were live or dead : 

At length he looked, and sawe a bille, 
And in it a key of gold so redd. 

He took the bill, and lookt it on, 
Strait good comfort found he there : 

Itt told him of a hole in the wall, 
In which there stood three chests in-fere*. 

Two were full of the beaten golde, 
The third was full of white money ; 

And over them in broad letters 

These words were written so plaine to see : 

^ ^ i^— ^ — i^^— — — — i^ — ^— »_ » 

• in-fore, i. e together. 



35 



40 



45 



" Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clue; 

Amend thy life and follies past ; bO 

For but thou amend thee of tny life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne; 

And let it bee, but if I amend *• 
For here I will make mine avow, 55 

This reade f shall guide me to the end. 

Away then went with a merry cheare, 
Away then went the heire of Linne j 

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne, 
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. 60 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
Upp at the speere t then looked bee ; 

There sate three lords upon a rowe, 
Were drinking of the wine so free. 

And John himself sate at the bord-head, 65 

Because now lord of Linne was hee. 

I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, 
One forty pence for to lend mee. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; 

Away, away, this may not bee : 7 * 

For Christs curse on my head, be sayd. 

If ever I trust thee one pennie. 

Then bespake the heire of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 

Madame, some almes on me bestowe, Tb 

I pray for sweet saint Charitie. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone, 
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee ; 

For if we shold bang any losel heere, 
The first we wold begin with thee. 80 

Then bespake a good fellowe. 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord j 
Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne ; 

Some time thou wast a well good lord : 

• Some -time a rood fellow thou hast been 85 

And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 
Therefore lie lend thee forty pence 
And other forty if need bee. 

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 

To let him sit in thy companie : 90 

For well I wot thou hadst his land. 
And a good bargain it was to thee. 

Up then spake him John o' the Scales, 

All wood he answerM him againe : 
Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 95 

But I did lose by that bargaine. 

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne, 
Before these lords so faire and free, 

Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape, 
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 100 

Ver. 60, an old northern phrase. 

* I. e. unless I amend. 1 1, e. advice, counsel. 

t Perhaps the Hole in the door or window, by which It 
was ipeerea, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shot. — In Bale's ftd 
Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase, (fol. 
38.) "The dore therof oft tymes opened and tpeared 
agayne." 



=c 



GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 



1*5 



• 



• I 



I drawe you to record, lords, he said. 

With mat he cast him a gods pennie . 
Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne, 

And here, good John, is thy money. 

And he ptiTI'd forth three bagges of gold, 105 
And hiyd them down upon the bord : 

All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
Soe shent he cold say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold, 

He told it forth mickle dinne. 110 

The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now Ime againe the Lord of linne* 

Saves, Have thou here, thou good fellowe, 

£orty pence thou didst lend mee : 
Now I am againe the Lord of linne, 115 

And forty pounds I will give thee. 



He make the deeper of my forrest, 
Both of the wild deere and the tame ; 

For but I reward thy bounteous heart, 
I wis, good fe)lowe, I were to blame. ISO 

Now welladay ! sayth Joan o' the Scales * 
Now welladay t and woe is my life ! 

Yesterday I was I*ady of Linne, 
Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife. 

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne ; 125 
Farewell now, John o' the Scales., said hee : 

Christs curse light on me, if ever again 
I bring my lands in jeopardy. 



• • 



fit In the present edition of this ballad several 
ancient readings are restored from the folio IMS. 



VI. 
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. AFTERWARDS LADY SANDES, 

ON HER BAVTirO A SCAB IN HSR FOREHEAD, 



Georob Gasooions was a celebrated poet in the 
early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears 
to great advantage among the miscellaneous writers 
of that age. He was author of three or four plays, 
and of many smaller poems ; one of the most 
remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, 
called the " Steele-glass," 1576, 4to. 

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both 
universities, whence he removed to Gray's-inn ; but, 
disliking the study of the law, became first a dangler 
at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars ofthe 
Ix>w Countries. He had no great success in any of 
these pursuits, as appears from a poem of his, intitled, 
'• Goscoigne's Wodmanship, written to Lord Gray of 
Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated 
in 1575, 1576, from " his poore house in Waltham- 
s»toe :" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578, 
according to Anth. Wood : or rather in 1577, if he 
is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, " A re- 
membrance of the well employed life and godly end 
of George Gascoigne, Esq. who deceased at Stam- 
ford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whet- 
stone, Gent, an eye-witness of his godly and cha- 
ritable end in this world," 4to. no date. — [From a 
MS. ofOldys.] 

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks " Gascoigne has much 
exceeded all the poets of bis age, in smoothness and 
harmony of versification*/* But the truth is, scarce 
any of the earlier poets of Queen Elizabeth's time 
are found deficient in harmony and smoothness, 
though those qualities appear so rare in the writings 
of their successors. In the " Paradise of Dainty 
Devises t." (the Dodsley's Miscellany of those 
times) will hardly be found one rough, or inharmo- 

Ver. 34, of Part I. and 108, of Part II. cast is the reading 
of the MS. 

* Observation on the Faerie Qnecn, Tol. II. p. 168. 

t Printed in 1578, 1900, and perhaps oftener, in 4to. black- 
letter 



niousline*: whereas the numbers of Jonson 
Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently 
offend the ear, like the filing of a saw. — Perhaps 
this is in some measure to be accounted for from 
the growing pedantry of that age, and from the 
writers affecting to run their lines into one another 
after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets. 

The following poem (which the elegant writer 
above quoted hath recommended to notice, as pos- 
sessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early 
state of our poetry), properly consists of alexandrines 
of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from 
two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's 
pieces; the first intitled, "A hundreth sundrie 
flowres, bounde up in one small posie, otc London, 
imprinted for Richarde Smith :" without date, but 
from a letter of H. W. (p. 202.) compared with the 
printer's epist. to the reader, it appears to have been 
published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, 
" The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq. corrected, 
perfected, and augmented by the author, 1575*— 
Printed at London, for Richard Smith, etc" No 
year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576. 

In the title page of this last (by way of printer's! 
or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, 
tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented 
drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, 
with this legend, " Occulta Veritas tempore patet" 
[a. s.] This is mentioned because it is not impro- 
bable but the accidental sight of this or seme other 
title page containing the same device, suggested to 
Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind, 
which he has introduced into the Luxembureh 
galleryj, and which has been so justly censured tor 
the unnatural manner of its execution. 



• The umc is true of most of the poems in the " Mlrrour 
of Magistrates," 1603, 4to, and also of " Surrey's Poems," 
1557. t Henrie Binneman. 

I Le Terns decoavre la Veritc 



1U 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



In court whoso demaundes 
What dame doth most excell ; 

For my conceit I must needes say, 
Fair© Bridges beares the bel. 

Upon whose lively cheelce, 
To prove my judgment true, 

The rose and lillie seeme to strive 
For equall change of hewe : 

And therewithall so well 

Hir graces all agree ; 
No frowning cheere dare once presume 

In hir sweet face to bee. 

Although some lavishe lippes. 
Which like some other best. 

Will say, the blemishe on hir brow* 
Disgraceth all the rest. 

Thereto I thus replie ; 

God wotte, they little knowe 
The hidden cause of that mishap, 

Nor how the harm did growe : 

For when dame Nature first 
Had framde hir heavenly face, 

And thoroughly bedecked it 
With goodly gleames of grace; 

It lyked hir so well : 

Lo here, quod she, a peece 
For perfect shape, thatpasseth all 

Appellee' worke in Greece. 

This bayt may chaunce to catche 

The greatest God of love, 
Or mightie tfiundring Jove himself, 

That rules the roast above. 

But out, alas ! those wordes 
Were vaunted all in vayne : 

And some unseen wer present there, 
Pore Bridges, to thy pain. 



10 



15 



SO 



25 



30 



35 



For Cupide, crafty boy, 

Close in a corner stoode, 
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir : 

I gesse it did him good. 40 

Yet when he felte the flame 

Gan kindle in his brest, 
And herd dame Nature boast by hir 

To break him of his rest. 

His hot newe-chosen love 45 

He chaunged into hate, 
And sodeynly with mightie mace 

Gan rap hir on the pate. 

It greeved Nature muche 

To see the cruell deede : 50 

Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept 

To see hir dearling bleede. 

Wei yet, quod she, this hurt 

Shal have some helpe I trowe: 
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55 

That whiter is than snowe. 

Wherwith Dan Cupide fled, 

For feare of further flame, 
When angel-like he saw hir shine, 

Whome he had emit with shame. 60 

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt 

In cradel of hir kind. 
The coward Cupide brake hir browe 

To wreke his wounded mynd. 

The skar still there remains ; 6. r> 

No force, there let it bee : 
There is no cloude that can eclipse 

So bri ght a bunne, as bhe. 

%• The lady here celebrated was Ca'hnrim 
daughter of Edmond second Lord Cbandos, wife < - 
William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, voi 
ii. p. 133, ed. 1779. 



VII 
FAIR ROSAMOND. 



Most of the circumstances in this popular story of I 
King Henry II. and the beautiful Rosamond have 
been taken for met by our English Historians ; who, 
unable to account for the unnatural conduct of 
Queen Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, 
have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that 
Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of 
that passion. 

Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to 
have followed Higden the monk of Chester, whose 
account, with some enlargements, is thus given by 
Stow. " Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter 
Lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by 
Queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at Wood- 
stocke [A. D. 1177.] where King Henry had made 
for her a house of wonderfull working ; so that no 
man or woman might come to her, but he that was 



instructed by the King, or such as were right secret 
with him touching the matter. This house after 
some was named Labvrinthus, or Dedalus worke, 
which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, 
called a Maze*; but it was commonly said, that 
lastly the Queene came to her by a clue of thridde, 
or nlke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not 
long after : but when she was dead, she was buried 
at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford 
with these verses upon her tombe : 

Hie jacit in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda . 
Non redolet, sed olet, qu® redolere solet 



a 



Ver. 0ft, In cradel of hir'kiod : i. e. in the cradle of her 
family. See Warton's Observations, vol. II, p. 137. 

* Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and waned 
with brick and stone, according to Drayton. See note oa 
his Epistle of Rosamond. 



i 



FAIR ROSAMOND; 



1*6 



>^» 



\ 



$* 



la English thus : 

*' The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre, 
Is now here graven ; to whom beauty was lent : 

In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre, 
That by her life was sweete and redolent : 
But now that she is from this life blent, 

Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke. 

A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke." 

Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 151. 

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's 
bower is differently related. Holinshed speaks of it, 
as " the common report of the people, ths* *he queene 
.... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the 
king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with 
his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharps and cruell 
wise, that she lived not long after." Vol. Ill, p. 
115. On the other hand, in Speede's Hist we are 
told that the jealous queen found her out " by a clew 
of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate 
to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of 
the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her 
fr ->t, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde : 
which the queene followed, till shee had found what 
she sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her 
spleene, as die lady lived not long after." 3d. edit, 
p. 509. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and 
probably as much truth, tells us the clue was gained 
by surprise, from the knight, who was left to guard 
her bower. 

It is observable, that none of the old writers attri- 
bute Rosamond's death to poison, (Stowe, above, 
mentions it merely as a slight conjecture;) they 
only give us to understand, that the queen treated 
her harshly; with furious menaces, wemay suppose, 
and sharp expostulations, which had such effect on 
her spirits, that she did not long survive it Indeed 
on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of 
credit 9 , among other fine sculptures, was engraven 
the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first 
was an accidental ornament, (perhaps only the Cha- 
lice) might in after-times suggest the notion that she 
was poisoned ; at least this construction was put 
upon it, when the stone came to be demolished after 
the nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that 
" the tombstone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up 
at Godstow, and broken in pieces, and that upon it 
were interchangeable weavings drawn out and decked 
with roses red and green, and the picture of the 
cup, out of which she drank the poison given her 
by die queen, carved in stone." 

Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor 
to the nunnery of Godstow, where she had also 
resided herself in the innocent part of her life, her 
body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle 
of the choir ; in which place it remained till the year 
1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be 
removed. The fact is recorded by Hovedon, a con- 
temporary writer, whose words are thus translated by 
Stowe : " Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey 
of nunnes, called Godstow,.. ..and when he had 
entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the 
middle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and 
set about with lights of waxe : and demanding whose 
tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe 
of R osamon d , that was some time lemman to 



• Tbo. Allen of Gloc Hall, Ozon. who died In 1631, aged 
00. 8ee Hearse's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, 
at the end of GaL Ncobrig. Hist voL ffl. p. 790. 



Henry II who for the love of her had done 

much good to that church Then guoth the bishop, 
take out of this place the harlot, ana bury her with* 
out the church, lest Christian religion should grow 
in contempt, and to the end that, through the exam- 
ple of her, other women being made afraid may be- 
ware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and 
advouterou8 company with men." Annals, p. 159. 

History further informs us, that king John re- 
paired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it with 
yearly revenues, " that these holy virgins might 
rMeeve with their prayers, the soules of his father 
King Henrie, and of Lady Rosamund there interred*." 
. . ... In what situation her remains were found at 
the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Ice- 
land, " Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery 
was taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this in* 
scription, Tomba Rosamund*. Her bones were 
closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn 
lether. When it was opened a very swete smell 
came owt of it f." See Hearne's discourse above 
quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us, 
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foun- 
dations of a very large building, which were believed 
to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth* 

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, 
Henry had two sons oy Rosamond, from a compu- 
tation of whose ages, a modern historian has endea- 
voured to invalidate the received story. These were 
William Longue-esp6; (or Long-sword) earl of 
Salisbury, and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne £• 
Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and 
yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time 
of his election to that see in 1173. Hence this 
writer concludes, that King Henry fell in love with 
Rosamond in 1149, when in King Stephen's reign 
he came over to be knighted by the king of Soots ; 
he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce 
with this lady " broke off upon his marriage with 
Eleanor Tin 1152} and that the young lady, by a 
natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection 
of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nun- 
nery of Godstowe, where she died probably before 
the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1175." [Carte's 
Hist. VoL I, p. 652."] But let it be observed, that 
Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over 
to be knighted : that he staid but eight months in 
this island, and was almost all the time with the 
King of Scots ; that be did not return back to Eng- 
land till 1153, the year after his marriage with 
Eleanor ; and that no writer drops the least hint of 
Rosamond's having ever been abroad with her lover, 
nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should 
venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's 
court. If all these circumstances are considered, 
Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent 
and improbable than that of the old ballad ; which is 
also countenanced by most of our old historians. 

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and eon • 
sequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond, 
seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manu- 
script in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus 
registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet, " Natus est 5° 
Henry II. [1159.] Factua est miles 25° Henry 1L 

• Vld. Reign of Henry II. in Speed'* History, writ by 
Dr. Barcham, Dean of Booking. 

t This would have patted for miraculous, if It had hap- 
pened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of all 
being a saint. 

{Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rick L 



IS* 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



ESJ.l Elect in Episcop. Lincoln, 28° Henry II, 
*.]" Vid Chron. de Kirkstall, (Domitian XII.) 
e's Hist of York, p. 432. 
The Ballad of Fair Rosamond appears to bare been 
first published in " Strange Histories or Songs and 
Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, 
Knights, and Gentlemen. &c. By Thomas Delone. 
Lond. 1612." 4to. It is now printed (with conjec- 
tural emendations) from four ancient copies in black- 
letter j two of them in the Pepys library. 

When as King Henry rnlde this land, 

The second of that name, 
Besides the queene, he dearly lorde 

A fair© and comely dame. 

Most peerlesse was her beautye fonnde, 5 

Her favour, and her face ; 
A sweeter creature in this worlde 

Could never prince embrace. 



Her crisped lockes like threads of golde 
Appeard to each mans sight ; 

Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles; 
Did cast a neavenlye light 

The blood within her crystal cheekes 

Did such a colour drive, 
As though the lillye and the rose 

For mastership did strive. 

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, 

Her name was called so, 
To whom our queene, dame EUinor, 

Was known a deadlyo foe. 

The king therefore, for her defence, 
Against the furious aueene, 

At Woodstocke buildea such a bower, 
The like was never seene. 

Most curiously that bower was built 
Of stone and timber strong, 

An hundered and fifty doors 
Did to this bower belong : 

And they so cunningly© contrir'd 
With turnings round about, 

That none but with a clue of thread, 
Could enter in or out 

And for his love and ladyes sake, 
That was so fair© and brighte, 

The keeping of this bower he gave 
Unto a valiant knighte. 

But fortune, that doth often frowne 
Where she before did smile, 

The kinges delighte and ladyes joy 
Full soon Bhee did beguile : 

For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, 
Whom he did high advance, 

Against his rather raised warree 
Within the realme of France. 

But yet before our comelye king 

The English land forsook©, 
Of Rosamond, his lady faire, 

His farewell© thus he tookei 



10 



15 



20 



25 



90 



35 



40 



45 



'* My Rosamonde, my only Rose, 

That pleasest best mine ere : 
The fairest flower in all the worlae 

To feed my fantasye : 

The flower of mine affected heart 

Whose sweetness doth excelle 
My royal Rose, a thousand times o ' 

I bid thee nowe farwelle ! * 

For I must leave my fairest flower, 

My sweetest Rose, a space, 
And cross the seas to famous France, 

Proud rebelles to abase. 60 

But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt 

My coming- shortlye see, 
And in my heart, when hence I am, 

lie beare my Rose with mee." 

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65 

Did heare the king saye soe, 
The sorrowe of Iter grieved heart 

Her outward lookes did showe ; 

And from her clear© and crystall eyes 

The teares gusbt out apace, TO 

Which like the silver-pearled dewe 
Ranne down her comely face. 

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde, 

Did wax© both wan and pale, 
And for the sorrow she conceivde 75 

Her vitall spirits faile ; 

And falling down all in a swoone 

Before king Henryes face, 
Full oft he in his princely© armes 

Her bodye did embrace • 80 

And twentye times, with watery eyes, 

He kist ner tender cheeke. 
Until he had revivde again© 

Her senses milde and meeke. 

Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? 85 

In© king did often say. 
Because, quoth shee, to bloody© warres 

My lord must part awaye. 

But since your grace on forrayne coast©* 

Among© your foes unkind© 9C 

Must go© to hazard© life and limbe. 
Why should 1 staye behind© 1 

Nay rather, let me, like a page, 

Your sword© and target beare , 
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 9b 

Which would offend you there. 

Or lett mee, in your royal tent 
Prepare your bed at night©, % 

And with sweete baths refresh your grace. 
At your return© from fight©. IOC 

Bo I your presence may enjoye 

No toil I will refuse ; 
But wanting you, my life is death ; 

Nay, death 1st rather <ihu^ i 



(• 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



1* 



" Content thy self, my dearest love; 

Thy rest at home shall bee 
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle j 

For travell fits not thee. 

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; 

Soft peace their sexe delightes : 
' Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers j 

Gay feastes, nor cruell fightes.' 

My Rose shall safely here abide, 

With musicke passe the day ; 
Whilst I, araonge the piercing pikes, 

My foes seeke far awaye. 

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and guide, 
Whilst Ime in armour dighte ; 

Gay galliards here my love shall dance, 
Whilst I my foes goe figbte. 

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste 

To bee my loves defence ; 
Be careful of my gallant Rose 

When I am parted hence." 

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 
As though his heart would breake : 

And Rosamonde, for very griefe, 
Not one plaine word could speake. 

And at their parting well they mighte 

In heart be grieved sore : 
After that daye faire Rosamonde 

The king did see no more. 

For when his grace had past the teas, 

And into France was gone j 
With envious heart, Queene EUinor, 

To Woodstocke came anone. 

And forth she calls this trustye knighte 

In an unhappy houre ; 
Who with his clue of twined thread, 

Came from this famous bower. 

And when that they had wounded him. 
The queene. this thread did gette, 

And went where ladye Rosamonde 
Was like an angeu sette. 

But when (he queene with stedfast eye 

Beheld her beauteous face, 
She was amaied in her minde 

At her exceeding grace. 



105 



110 



115 



120 



125 



130 



135 



140 



145 



Cast off from thee those robes, she said. 

That riche and costlye bee ; 
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, 

Which I have brought to thee. 

Then presentlye upon her knees 

Sweet Rosamonde did falle ; 
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 

For her offences all. 

" Take pitty on my youth full yeares, 

Faire Rosamonde did crye ; 
And lett mee not with poison stronge 

Enforced bee to dye. 

I will renounce my sinfull life, 

And in some cloyster bide j 
Or else be banisht, if you please, 

To range the world soe wide. 

And for the fault which I have done. 

Though I was forc'd theretoe, 
Preserve my life, and punish mee 

As you thinke meet to doe." 

And with these words, her lillie handes 

She wrunge full often there ; 
And downe along her lovely face 

Did trickle many a teare. 

But nothing could this furious queene 

Therewith appeased bee ; 
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 

As she knelt on her knee, 

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke ; 

Who tooke it in her hand, 
And from her bended knee arose, 

And on her feet did stand: 

And casting up her eyes to heaven, 

Shee did for mercye calle ; 
And drinking up the poison stronge, 

Her life she lost withalle. , 

And when that death through everye limbe 
Had showde its greatest spite, 

Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse 
Shee was a glorious wight. 

Her body then they did entomb, 

When life was tied away, 
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne. 

As may be seene this day. 



150 



155 



160 



165 



170 



175 



180 



185 



190 



VIII. 
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



L 



■• Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William 
duke of Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been 
married sixteen years to Louis VII. king of France, 
and had attended him in a croisade, which that mo- 
narch commanded against the infidels ; but having 
lost the affections of her husband, and even fallen un- 



der some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome 
Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured 
a divorce from her, and restored her those rich pro- 
vinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to 
the crown of France. The young count of Anjou, 
afterwards Henry II. King of England, though at 



I- 



. .. ' - ■* 



its 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



that time but in bis nineteenth year, neither discou- 
raged by the disparity of age, nor by the reports of 
Eleanors' gallantry, made such successful courtship 
to that princess, that he married her six weeks after 
hex divorce, and got possession of all her dominions 
as a dowery. A marriage thus founded upon interest 
not likely to be rery happy: it happened ac- 



cordingly. Eleanor, who had disgusted her first 
husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to 
her second by her iealousy: thus carrying to extre- 
mity, in the different parts of her life, every circum- 
stance of female weakness. She bsd several sons by 
Henry, whom she spirited up to rebel against him ; 
and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in 
man's apparel in 1175, she was discovered and thrown 
into a confinement, which seems to have continued 
till the death of her husband in 1 189. She however 
survived him many years ; dying in 1204, in the 
sixth year of • the reign of her youngest son, John." 
See Hume's History, 4to. vol. L pp. 260, 507. Speed, 
8towe. &c 

It is needless to observe that the following ballad 
(given, with some corrections, from an old printed 
copy) is altogether fabulous ; whatever gallantries 
Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first hus- 
band, none are imputed to her in that of her se- 
cond* 

Quxxkx Elianor was a sicke womin, 

And afraid that abe should dye ; 
Then she sent for two fryars of France 

To speke with her speedilye. 

The king calld downe his nobles all, 5 

By one, by two, by three ; 
'• Earl marshall, lie goe shrive the queens), 

And thou shalt wend with mee." 

A boone, a boone ; quoth earl marshall. 

And fell on his bended knee ; 10 

That whatsoever Queene Elianor save, 
No harme therof may bee. 

lie pawne my landes, the king then cryd, 

My sceptre, crowne, and all, 
That whatsoere Queen Elianor saves 15 

No harme thereof shall fall. 

Do thou put on a fryars coat, 

And He put on another ; 
And we will to Queen Elianor goe 

Like fryar and his brother. 90 

Thus both attired then they goe : 

When they came to Whitehall, 
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing, 

And the torches did lighte them all. 

When that they came before the queene f 5 

They fell on their bended knee ; 
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene, 

That you sent so hostile** 

Are you two fryars of France, she sayd, 
Aa I suppose you bee 1 50 

But if you are two Eofflishe fryars, 
You shall hang on the gallowes tree* 



We are two fryars of Frame, they sayd, 

As you suppose we bee, 
We have not been at any masse 

8ith we came from the 



55 



The first vile thing that ever I did 

I will to you unfolde ; 
Earl marshall had my maidenhead. 

Beneath this cloth of golds. 

That's a vile shine, then sayd the king ; 

May God forgive it thee t 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 

With a heavye heart spake bee. 

The next vile thins that ever I did, 

To you He not denye, 
I made a boxe of poyson strong. 

To poison King Henrye. 

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king. 

May God forgive it thee I 
Amen, amen, quoth earl ma rsh a ll j 

And I wish it so may bee. 

The next yfle thing that ever I did, 

To you I will discover ; 
I poyscned fair Rosamonde, 

All in fair Woodstocke bower. 



40 



45 



50 



55 



Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king ; 

May God forgive it thee ! 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 

And I wish it so may bee. 



6C 



Do you see yonders little boye, 

A tossing of the balle 1 
That is earl marshalls eldest Sonne, 

And I love him the best of all. 

Do you see yonders little boye, 

A catching of the balle 1 
That is king Henryes youngest sonne 

And I love him the worst of all. 

His head is fashyon'd like a bull ; 

His nose is like a boare. 
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd. 

I love him the better therfore 



6* 



70 



The king pulled off his fryars coate, 

And appeared all in redde : 
She ahrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, 75 

And sayd she was betrayde. 

The king lookt over his left shoulder, 

And a srimme look looked hee, 
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe 

Or hanged thou snouldst bee. 80 



Yer. 0s, 67. She means that the eldest of these twe was 
by the Bart Marshall, the ycangesl by the king 



- 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



isy 



* • 



IX. 
THE STURDY ROCK. 



This poem, subscribed M. T. [perhaps invertedly 
fur T. Marshall *1 is preserved in " The Paradise of 
daintie Devises, quoted above in page if 5. The 
two first stanzas may be found accompanied with 
musical notes in " An Howres Recreation in Mu- 
sicke," &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to: 
usually bound up with three or four sets of " Madri- 
gals set to Music by Thomas Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 
1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so 
complete an example of the Bathos that I cannot 
forbear presenting it to the reader. 

Thule, the period of cosmographie, 
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fin 

Doth melt the frozen otime, and thaw the side, 
Trinacrian ^Etna's flames ascend not hier : 

These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I, 

Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry. 

The Andelusian merchant, that returnee 
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes, 

Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes 
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes : 

These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I, 

Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry. 

Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion with 
many of his brethren of later times, that nonsense 
was best adapted to display the powers of musical 
composure. 



The sturdy rock for all his strength 
By raging seas is rent in twaine : 

The marble stone is pearst at length, 
With little drops of drizling rain : 

The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 

The Steele obeyeth the hammer stroke. 

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout. 
By yalping hounds at bay is set : 

The swiftest bird, that flies about, 
Is caught at length in fowler's net : 

The greatest fish, in deepest brooke. 

Is soon deceived by subtill hooka. 

Yea man himselfe, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey, 

For all his wit and worthie skill, 
Doth fade at length and fall away. 

There is nothing but time doeth waste ; 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

But vertue sits triumphing still 
Upon the throne of glorious fame : 

Though spiteful death mans body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name : 

By life or death what so betides, 

The state of vertue never slides. 



10 



15 



SO 



X. 

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREE 



This popular old ballad was written in the reign 
of Elizabeth, as appears not only from ver. 23, 
where the arms of England are called the " Queenes 
armes ;" but from its tune's being quoted in other 
old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on 
"Mary Ambree," in this work. The late Mr. 
Guthrie assured the editor, that he had formerly 
seen another old song on the same subject, composed 
in a different measure from this ; which was truly 
beautiful, if we may judge from the only stanza he 
remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, 
that " down his neck 

— — his reverend lockes 
In comelye curies did wave ; 

And on his aged temples grewe 
The blossomes of the grave." 

The following Ballad is chiefly given from the 
Editor's folio MS. compared with two ancient printed 
copies : the concluding stanzas, which contain the 
old Beggar's discovery of himself, are not however 



• VfcL Aiken. Ox. p. 162, 3l« . 



given from any of these, being very different from 
those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor 
offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to 
remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which 
so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as 
it stood before : whereas, by the alteration of a few 
lines, the story is rendered much more affecting, 
and is reconciled to probability and true history. 
For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of 
Evesham, (fought August 4, 1265,) when Simon de 
Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain at 
the head of the barons, his eldest son, Henry, fell 
by his side, and, in consequence of that defeat, hia 
whole family sunk for ever, the king bestowing their 
great honours and possessions on his second son, 
Edmund, Earl of Lancaster. 

PABT THJt FIRST. 

Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight, 
He had a faire daughter of bewty moat bright : 
And many a gallant brave suiter had shoe, 
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bcsjse. 



nmmmmmm 



130 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BED N ALL-GREEN. 



And though shee was of favor most fairs, 5 

Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre 
Of aucyent housekeepers despised was shee, 
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee. 

Wherefore in great sorrow fairs Bessy did say, 
Good father, and mother, let me goe away 10 

To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee. 
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee. 

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright, 
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night 
From father and mother alone parted shee ; 15 

Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee. 

Shee went til] shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; 
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe : 
With teares shee lamented her hard destinle, 
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. SO 

Shee kept on her journey nntill it was day, 
And went unto Rumford along the hye way ; 
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee : 
Soe fairs and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. 

Shee had not been there a month to an end, 25 

But master and mistres and all was her friend : 
And every brave gallant, that once did her see 
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee. 

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, 
And in their songs daylye her love was eztold ; 90 
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree ; 
Soe fair© and soe comelye was pretty Bessee. 

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy , 
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye ; 
And at her commandment still wold they bee ; 35 
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee. 

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; 
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe ; 
I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee. 
Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40 

The first of them was a gallant young knight, 
And he came unto her disguisde in the night, 
The second a gentleman of good degree, 
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee. 

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not smsll,45 
He was the third suiter, and proper withall : 
Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee, 
Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 

And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight, 
He make thee a ladye with joy and delight j 50 
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtie, 
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee. 

The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee. 
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee : 
My life is distressed : O heare me, quoth bee ; 55 
And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee. 

Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say, 
Thou shaH live in London both gallant and gay ; 
My shippes shall bring home rych Jewells for thee, 
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60 



Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say, 
My father and mother I mesne to obey ; 
First gett there good will, and be faithfull to mee, 
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee. 

To every one this answer shee made, 65 

Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, 

This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; 

But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee 1 

My father, shee said, is soone to be seene : 

The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 70 

That daylye sits begging for charitie, 

He is the good father of pretty Bessee. 

His markes and his tokens are knowen very well ; 
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell : 
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is bee, 75 

Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee. 

Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee : 
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou ahalt bee : 
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree, 
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee I 80 

Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse, 
I waighe not true love by the weight of the purase. 
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; 
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee. 

With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 85 
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe j 
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee. 
Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee. 

But soone after this, by breake of the day 
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. 90 
The younge men of Rumford, as thicke might bee. 
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee. 

As swifte as the wmde to ryde they were seene, 
Untill they came near© unto Bednall-greene ; 
And as the knight lighted most courteouslie 95 
They all fought against him for pretty Bessee. 

But rescew came speedilye over the plsine, 

Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine. 

This fray being ended, then straitway he see 

His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Boasoo. 100 

Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore, 
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore : 
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle, 
Yett will I dropp arar ell* with you for my girle. 

And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 105 
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, 
Then neytber rayle nor grudge you to see 
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee. 

But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne, 
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. 110 
With that they replyea, Contented bee wee. 
Then here's, quoth the beggar for pretty Besses* 

With that an angell he cast on the ground, 
And dropped in angels full three thousand * pound ; 
And oftentimes itt was proved most plsine, 115 
For the gentlemens one the beggar droppt twayne : 

• In the Editor's folio MS. it U MOi. 



«»« 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDN ALL- GREEN. 



131 



8oe that the place, wherein they did sitt. 

With gold it was corered every whitt 

The gentlemen then having dropt all their store, 

Sayd v Now, beggar, hold, for wee hare noe more. 120 

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise anight. 
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight ; 
And heere, aimed hee,I will now throwe you downe 
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne. 

The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, 125 
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : 
And all those, that were her suitors before, 
Their flesbe for rerj anger they tore. 

Thus was fair Besse matched to the knight. 

And then made a ladye in others despite : 130 

A fairer ladye there never was scene, 

Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene. 

But of their sumptuous marriage and feast, 
What brave lords and knights thither were prest. 
The second fitt • shall set forth to your sight 135 
With marvellous pleasure and wished delight. 

PART THE SICOND. 

Of? a blind beggars daughter most bright, 
That late was betrothed unto a younge knight ; 
All the discourse therof you did see ; 
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 

Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 5 

Adorned with all the cost they cold have, 
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie, 
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee. 

All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete 
Were bought forthe banquet, as it was most meete ; 10 
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, 
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. 

This marriage through England was spread by report, 
So that a great number thereto did resort 
Of nobles and gentles in every degree ; 15 

And all for the fame of prettye Bessee. 

To church then went this gallant younge knight; 
His bride followed after, an angell most bright, 
With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was seene 
As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 20 

This marryage being solempnixed then, 
With musicke performed by the skilfuUest men, 
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde, 
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde. 

Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 25 
To talke, and to reason a number begunn : 
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright, 
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. 

Then spake the nobles, " Much marveil hare wee. 
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 30 
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base, 
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace. 

" The prayse of a woman in questyon to brings 
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge ; 
But wee thinke thy father's baseness, quoth they, 35 
Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye." 

• gea an Emv on the word Fit at the end of the Second Part. 



45 



They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke, 
But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke ; 
A faire velvet capp, and a father had bee, 
And now a muaicyan forsooth he wold bee. 40 

He had a daintye lute under his arme. 
He touched the strings, which made such a charme, 
Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee, 
lie sing you a song of pretty Bessee. 

With that his lute he twanged straigtway, 
And thereon begaun most sweet! ye to play ; 
And after that lessons were playd two or three. 
He strayn'd out this song most delieatelie. 

" A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene, 
Who for her faireness might well be a queene : 50 
A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee. 
And many one called her pretty Bessee. 

" Her father bee had noe goods, nor noe land, 
But beggd for a penny all day with his hand ; 
And yett to her marriage he gave thousands three*,55 
And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. 

" And if any one here her birth doe disdaine, 
Her father is ready, with might and with maine, 
To proove shee is come of noble degree : 
Therfore never flout art prettye Bessee." 60 

With that the lords and the company* round 
With harty laughter were readye to swound; 
Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see, 
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee. 

On this the bride all blushing did rise, 65 

The pearlie dropps standing within her mire eyes, 
O pardon my fatner, grave nobles, quoth shee, 
That througne blind affection thus aoteth on mee. 



If this be thy father, the nobles did say, 
Well may he be proud of this happy day ; 
Yett by his countenance well may wee see, 
His birth and his fortune did never agree; 



70 



And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray, 
(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say) 
Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee ; 75 
For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee. 

"Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one. 
One song more to sing, and then I have done; 
And if that itt may not winn good report, 
Then doe not give me a groat for my sport 80 

" [Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee; 
Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee, 
Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase, 
Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race. 

" When the barons in armea did King Henrye oppose, 
Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose ; 86 
A leader of courage undaunted was hee. 
And oft-times he made their enemyes flea. 

" At length in the battle on Eveahame plaine 
The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine ; 
Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee, 91 

Tboughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee ' 



• So the folio MS. 



v.9 



■r*" 



139 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



"Alone with tbe nobles, that fell at that tyde, 
His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side, 
Was felde by a bio we, he receivde in the fight 1 
A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight. 



95 



L 



" Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye, 
Till evening drewe on of the following daye, 
When by a yong ladye disco verd was hee ; 
And this was thy mother my prettye Bessee ! 100 

" A barons faire daughter stept forth in the nighte 
To search for her father, who fell in the fight, 
And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he laye. 
Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye. 

" In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine, 105 
While he throughe the realmewas beleevd to be 

slaine: 
At length his faire bride she consented to bee, 
And made him glad father of prettye Bessee. 

w And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye, 
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye ; 110 

Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee : 
All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.] 

" And here have wee lived in fortunes despite, 
Thoujrhe poore, yet contented with humble delighte : 
Full forty winters thus have I beene 115 

A silly bund beggar of Bednall-greene. 

" And here, noble lordea, is ended the song 
Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong : 
And thus have you learned a secrette from mee, 
That ne'er bad beene knowne, but for prettye 
Bessee." 120 

Now when the faire companye everye one. 

Had tard the stnnge tale in tbe song he had 

snowne, 
They all were amazed, as well they might bee, 
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee. 

With that tbe faire bride they all did embrace, 125 
Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race. 
Thy father likewise is of noble degree, 
And thou art well worthy a lady to bee. 

Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte, 
A bridegroome most happy then was the younge 

knighte. 
In joy and feticide long lived hee, 131 

All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. 

fit The word fit for part, often occurs in our 
ancient ballads and metrical romances ; which being 
divided into several parts for the convenience of 
singing them at public entertainments, were in the 
intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions. 
So Puttenham in his Art of English Poesie, 1589, 
says, "the Epithalamie was divided by breaches 
into three partes to serve for three several fits, or 
times to be sung." p. 41. 

From the same writer we learn some curious par- 
ticulars relative to the state of ballad-singing in 
that age, that will throw light on the present subject: 
speaking of the quick returns of one manner of tune 
in the short measures used by common rhymers ; 
»*»ese. he says, " glut the eare, unless it be in small 



and popular musickes, sung by these Cantabanqui 
upon benches and barrels heads, where they have 
none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes, 
that passe by them in the streete ; or else by blind 
harpers, or such like taveroe Minstrels, that gave a 
fit of mirth for a groat,, .their matter being for the 
most part stories of old time, as the tale of Sir 
Topas, the reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of 
Warwicke, Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough, 
and such other old romances or historical rimes, 
made purposely for recreation of the common people 
at Christmasse dinners and bridealea, and in tavernes 
and alehouses, and such other places of base re- 
sorte." p. 69. 

This species of entertainment which seems to have 
been handed down from the ancient bards, was in 
the time of Puttenham falling into neglect ; but that 
it was not, even then, wholly excluded more genteel 
assemblies, he gives us room to infer from another 
passage, " We ourselves," says this courtly* writer, 
" have written for pleasure a little brief romance, or 
historical ditty in the English tongof the Isle of 
Great Britaine in short and long meetres, and by 
breaches or divisions [i. e. fits] to be more commo- 
diously sung to the harpe in places of assembly, 
where the company shal be desirous to heare of old 
adventures, and valiaunces of noble knights in times 
past, as are those of King Arthur and his knights of 
the Round Table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy 
of Warwicke, and others lite." p. S3. 

In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity 
was complete without one of these reciters to enter- 
tain the company with feats of arms, and tales of 
knighthood, or, as one of these old minstrels says, 
in the beginning of an ancient romance on Guy and 
Colbronde, in the Editor's folio MS. 

" When meate and drinke is great plentyS. 
And lords and ladyes still wil bee, 

And sitt and solace t lythe ; 
Then itt is time for mee to speake 
Of keene knightes, and kempes great, 

Such carping for to kythe." 

If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth 
was more than equivalent to a shilling now, we 
shall find that the old harpers were even then, when 
their art was on the decline, upon a far more reputa- 
ble footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The 
reciting of one such ballad as this of the Beggar of 
Bednall-green, in two parts, was rewarded with half 
a crown of our money. And that they made a very 
respectable appearance, we may learn from the dress 
of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 131, 
where he comes into company in the habit and 
character of one of these minstrels, being not known 
to be the bride's father, till after her speech, ver. 63. 
The exordium of his song, and his claiming a groat 
for his reward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic 
of that profession. — Most of the old ballads begin in 
a pompous manner, in order to captivate the atten- 
tion of the audience, and induce them to purchase a 
recital of the song : and they seldom conclude the 
first part without large promises of still greater 
entertainment in the second, This was a necessary 
piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the ex- 
pense of a second groat's-worth. — Many of the old 

• He was one of Qneen Elizabeth's gent, pensioners, at « 
time when the whole band consisted of men of distinguished 
birth and fortune. YhL Ath. Ox. t Perhaps M Wythe." 






FANCY AND DESIRE, 



133 



romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would 
afford a considerable profit to the reciter. 

To return to the word fit ; it seems at one time 
to hare peculiarly signified the pause, or breathing- 
time, between the several parts (answering to Pastut 
in the visions of Pierce Plowman) : thus in the 
ancient ballad of " Chevy-Chace," (p. 3,) the first 
Part ends with this line, 

" The first fit here I fynde : " 

i. e. here I come to the first pause or intermis- 
sion. (See also p. 5.) By degrees it came to 
signify the whole part or division preceding the 
pause. (See the concluding verses of the first and 
second parts of " Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, 
and William of Cloudesly," in this work.) This sense 
it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer : 
who thus concludes the first part of his rhyme of 
Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the old ballad ro- 
mances): 

" Lo ! lordis mine, here is a fitt ; 
If ye woll any more of it, 
To tell it woll I fonde." 

The word fit indeed appears originally to have sig- 
nified a poetic strain, verse, or poem : for in these 
senses it is used by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus 
King iElfred in his Boetius, having given a version 
of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, Dape pij-bom tha thap prtte 
apmxen hrcpfce p. 65, i. e. " When wisdom had 
sung these [fitts] verses." And in the Proem to 



the same book Fon on piece, " Put into [fitt] verse. 
So in Cedmon, p. 45. Feon'b on pirte, seems to 
mean " composed a song/* or " poem." — The reader 
will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application 
of the word fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer. 
See Gloss. 

Spenser has used the word fit to denote " a strain 
of music : " see bis poem entitled, " Collin Clout's 
come home again,** where he says, 

The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Wait Raleigh] 
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit. 

And when he heard the music which I made 
He found himselfe full greatlye pleas'd at it, &c 

It is alsQ used in the old ballad of King Estmere, 
p. 16, v. 243. 

From being applied to music, this word was 
easily transferred to dancing ; thus in the old play 
of "Lusty Juventus" (described in p. 117), Juven- 
tus says, 

By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte. 

And from being used as *a part or division in a 
ballad, poem, &c. it is applied by Bale to a section 
or chapter in a book, (though I believe in a sense of 
ridicule or sarcasm) for thus he entitles two chapters 

of his " English Dotaryes," part 2, viz fol. 49, 

" The first fytt of Anuhne with Kynge WyUyam Rw 

/ns.** fol. 50, " An other fytt of AntelmeivithKynge 

WyUyam Rufas" 



XI. 
FANCY AND DESIRE. 



BY THE BAAL OF OXFORD. 



Edwjrd Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame 
for his poetical talents in the reign of Elizabeth : 
perhaps it is no injury to his reputation that few of 
pis compositions are preserved for the inspection of 
impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have 
inserted a sonnet of his, which is quotea with great 
encomiums for its " excellence ana wit/' in Putten- 
ham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie*," and found entire in 
the " Garland of Good-will.'* A few more of his son- 
nets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.) may 
be seen in the " Paradise of Daintie Devises." One of 
these is entitled, " The Complaint of a Lover, wear- 
ing blacke and tawnie." The only lines in it worth 
notice are these, 

A crowne of baies shall that man ' beare* 

Who triumphs over me ; 
For black and tawnie will I weare, 

Which mourning colours be. 

We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when Queen 
Catharine of Arragon died, Jan 8, 1536; "Queen 
Anne CBullen] ware yellowe for the mourning." 
And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, 
May 19, the same year, " on the ascencion day fol- 
lowing, the kyng for mourning ware whyte.*' Fol. 
*S7, its. J 



• Load. 1680, p. I7z» 



Edward, who was the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, 
of the family of Vere, succeeded his father in his title 
and honours in 1562, and died an aged man in 1604. 
See Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon. 
etc. 

Comb hither shepherd's swayne : 

" Sir, what do you require ?" 
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name. 

My name is " Fond Desire.** 

When wert thou borne, Desire 1 6 

" In pompe and pryme of may.'* 
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot t 

" By fond Conceit men say." 

Tell me, who was thy nurse t 

" Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 
What was thy meate and dayly foode t 

" Sad sighes with great annoy." 

What hadst thou then to drinkel 

" Unsavoury lovers teares." 
What cradle wert thou rocked in 1 

" In hope devoyde of feares." 

What lulld thee then asleepe? 

" Sweete speech, which likes me beat," 
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place 1 
In gentle hartea I rest." 



10 



t& 



«4 



to 



_ 



-» 



196 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



This is cold comfort, sail my lord, 
To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea : 

Yet lie bring him and nis shipp to shore, 
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee. If 

Then a noble gunner you must have, 

And he most aim well with his ee, 
And sinke his pinnace into the sea, 

Or else hee never orecome will bee : 
And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125 

This counsel I must give withall, 
Let no man to his topcastle goe 

To strive to let his beams downe fell. 

And seven pieces of ordinance, 

I pray your honour lend to mee, 130 

On each side of my shipp along, 

And I will lead you on the sea. 
A glasse He sett, that may be seene, 

Whether you sayle by day or night ; 
And to-morrowe, I sweare,bynine of the clockel35 

You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight 

TBS SECOND PART. 

Ths merchant sett my lorde a glasse 

Soe well apparent in his sight. 
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke. 

He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight. 
His hachebord it was ' gilt' with gold, 5 

Soe deerlye dieht it dazzled the ee : 
Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais, 

This is a gallant sight to see. 

Take in your ancyents, standards eke, 

So close that no man may them see ; 
And put me forth a white willowe wand, 

As merchants use to sayle the sea. 
But they stirred neither top, nor mast •; 

Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by. 
What English churles are yonder, he sayd, 

That can soe litle curtesye 1 

Now by the roode, three yeares and more 

I have beene admirall over the sea ; 
And never an English nor Portingall 

Without my leave can passe this way. 
rhen called he forth his stout pinnace ; 

" Fetch baoke yond pedlars nowe to mee : 
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles 

Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 

With that the pinnace itt shott off, 

Full well Lord Howard might it ken ; 
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast, 

And killed fourteen of his men. 
Come hither, Simon, stives my lord, 

Looke that thy word be true, thou said ; 
For at my maine-mast thou shall hang, 

If thou misse thy morke one shilling bread. 

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold. 

His ordinance he laid right lowe ; 
He put in chaine full nine yardes long, 

With other great shott lesse, and noe ; 
And he lette goe his great gunnes shott : 

Soe well he settled itt with his ee, 
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, 

He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 



10 



15 



SO 



25 



30 



35 



40 



Va . 5, « bached wits gold.' MS. V. S5, i. e. diacharged 
chaif shot. 

• L e. did oot salute 



And when he saw his pinnace sunke, 

Lord, how his heart with rage did swell I 
" Nowe cuttmy ropes, itt is time to be goo ; 

He fetch yond pedlars backe mysell," 
When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose, 45 

Within his heart hee was full faine : 
" Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes, 

Sound all your trumpetts outamaine." 



Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais, 

Weale howsoever this geere will sway ; 
Itt is my lord admirall of England, 

Is come to seeke mee on the sea. 
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well, 

1 hat did Sir Andrewe mickle scare ; 
In att his decke he gave a shott, 

Killed threescore of his men of warre. 

Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott 

Came bravely on the other side, 
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree, 

And killed fourscore men beside. 
Nowe, out alas ! Sir Andrewe cryed, 

What may a man now thinke, or say T 
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee. 

He was my prisoner yesterday. 

Come hither to me, thou Gordon good. 

That aye wast readye att my call ; 
I will give thee three hundred markes, 

If thou wilt let my beames downe fall. 
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste, 

" Horseley see thou be true in stead ; 
For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang, 

If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread. 

Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree, 

He swarved it with might and maine ; 
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, 

Stroke the Gordon through the braine ; 
And he fell unto the haches again, 

And sore his deadlye wounde did bleede : 
Then word went through Sir Andrews men. 

How that the Gordon hee was dead. 

Come hither to mee, James Hambilton, 

Thou art my only sisters sonne, 
If thou wilt let my beames downe fell, 

Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne. 
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 

He swarved it with nimble art ; 
But Horseley with a broad arrowe 

Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart : 

And downe he fell upon the deck, 

That with his blood did streame amaine : 
Then every Scott cryed, Well-away I 

Alas a comelye youth is slaine I 
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then, 

With gnefe and rage his heart did swell: 
" Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe. 

For I will to the topcastle myseu." 

" Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe ; 

That gilded is with gold soe cleare : 
God be with my brother John of Barton ! 

Against the Portingalls hee it ware ; 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



|i 



90 



95 



100 



Ver. 67, 84, pound*, MS. V. 75, heaiinge, ae. that carrie* 
well, Sec. But M« Glues. 



> ■■ ■* 



r 



LADY ANISE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



137 



And when he had on this armour of proofe, 

He was a eallant sight to see : 
Ah ! nere didst thou meet with living wight, 

My deere brother, could cope with thee." 



105 



Come hither Horseley, saves my lord, 

And looke your shaft tnat itt goe right, 
Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 

And for it thou shalt be made a knight. 
He shoot my best, quoth Horseley then, 

Your honour shall see, with might and maine; 110 
But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 

I have now left but arrowes twaine. 

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, 

With right good will he swerved then : 
Upon bis breast did Horsley hitt, 115 

But the arrow bounded back agen. 
Then Horseley spyed a privye place 

With a perfect eye in a secrette part j 
Under the spole of his right arroe 

He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 190 

" Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine ; 
He but lye downe and bleede a while, 

And then He rise' and fight againe. 
" Fight on, my men. Sir Andrew aayes, 125 

Ajid never flinche before the foe ; 
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse 

Untill you heare my whistle blowe." 

They never heard his whistle blow, 

Which made their hearts waxe sore adread : 130 
Then Horseley sayd. Aboard, my lord, 

For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead. 
They boarded then his noble shipp, 

They boarded it with might and maine ; 
Eighteen score Scots alive they found, 135 

The rest were either maimed or slaine. 

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand, 

And off he smote Sir Andrewes head, 
" 1 must have left England many a daye, 

If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 140 

He caused his body to be cast 

Over the hatchbord into the sea, 
And about his middle three hundred crownes : 

" Wherever thou land this will bury thee." 

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came, 1*5 

And backe he sayled ore the maine, 
With mickle joy and triumphing 

Into Thames mouth he came againe. 



Lord Howard then a letter wrote, 

And sealed it with seale and ring ; 150 

" Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace 

As never did subject to a king : 

" Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee ; 

A braver shipp was never none : 
Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr, 155 

Before in England was but one." 
King Henryes grace with royall cheere 

Welcomed the noble Howard home, 
And where, Mid he, is this rover stout, 

That I myselfe may give the doome ? 160 

" The rover, he is safe, my leige, 

Full many a fadom in the sea ; 
If he were alive as he is dead, 

I must have left England many a day : 
And your grace may thank four men i' the ship 165 

For the victory wee have wonne, 
These are William Horseley ,*H enry Hunt, 

And Peter Simon, and his sonne." 



To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd, 

In lieu of what was from thee tane, 
A noble a day now thou shalt have, 

Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne. 
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, 

And lands and livings shalt have store ; 
Howard shall be Erie Surrye hight, 

As Howards erst have been© before. 

Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old, 

I will maintaine thee and thy sonne : 
And the men shall have five hundred markes 

For the good service they have done. 
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair 

To see "Sir Andre we Barton knight ; 
They weend that bee were brought on shore. 

And thought to have seen a gallant sight. 



17G 



175 



180 



185 



But when they see his deadlye face. 

And eyes soe hollow in his head, 
I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes, 

This man were alive as bee is dead : 
Yett for the manfull part hee playd, 

Which fought soe well with heart and hand, 190 
His men shall have twelvepence a day, 

Till they come to my brother kings high land. 



a 



XIIT. 
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



A SCOTTISH SONO. 



/. 



The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once 
thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Both well, 
and his desertion of Lis wife Lady Jean Gordon, to 
make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots : 
But this opinion he now believes to be groundless ; 
indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of 



sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikelv 
that he should be the object of so warm a passiou n 
this elegy supposes. He has been since informed 



Ver. 175, fl . . . Erie of Nottingham, And toe wa* ner* 
&cMS. 



188 



THE MURDER OF THE KINO OF SCOTS. 



that h entirely refers to a private story . A young 
lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell 
haying been, together with her child, deserted by 
her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines - 
herself; which here are given from a copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in Allan 
Ramsay's Miscellany. 

Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe t 
It nieves me sair to see thee weipe : 
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad, 
Thy maining males my heart ful sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5 

Thy father breides me great annoy. 
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, 
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe. 

Whan he began to court my lure, 

And with his sngred wordes* to muve, 10 

His faynings fals, and flattering cheire 

To me that time did not appeire : 

But now I see, most crueft bee 

Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 

Balow, &c 15 

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while. 

And when thou wakest, sweitly smile: 

But smile not, as thy father did, 

To cozen maids : nay God forbid ! 

Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire tO 

Thy fatberis hart, and face to beira 

Balow, Sec. 



I cannae chuse, bu* ever will 
Be hiving to thy father still : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, S5 

My luve with him doth still abyde : 
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, 
Mine hart can neire depart him frae. 

Balow, &c 

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 3< 

To faynings fals thine hart incline J 
Be loyal to thy hirer trew, 
And nevir change her for a new : 
If gude or faire, of hir have care, 
For womens banning's wonderous sair 36 

Balow, &c 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, 

Thy winsome smiles maun eue my peine ; 

My babe and 111 together live, 

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve : 4t 

My babe and I right soft will ly, 

And quite forgeit man's cruelty. 

Balow, &c 

Fareweil, farewell, thou falsest youth. 

That evir kist a womans mouth ! 4 

I wish all maidea be warnd by mee 

Nevir to trust mans curtesy ; 

For if we doe bot chance to bow, 

Theyle use us then they care not how. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 60 
It grives me sair to see thee weipe. 



XIV. 
THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS. 



The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, 
the unfortunate husband of Mary Queen of Scots, is 
the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that 
partial imperfect manner, in which such an event 
would naturally strike the subjects of another king- 
dom ; of which he was a native. Henry appears to 
have been a vain capricious worthless young man, 
of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But 
the beauty of bis person, and the inexperience of his 
youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an 
indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would 
afterwards convert into the most tender pity and 
regret : and then imagination would not fail to 
adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to 
have possessed. This will account for the extrava- 
gant elogium bestowed upon him in the first stansa, 

Henry Lord Darnley was eldest son of the Earl of 
Lennox, by the Lady Margaret Douglas, niece of 
Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret Queen of 
Scotland by the Earl of Angus, whom that princess 
married after the death of James IV. — Darnley, who 

• When tugar was first imported into Europe, it was a 
very great daiiuy ; and therefore the epithet tmyred is nsed 
by all oar old writers metaphorically to express extreme and 
delicate sweetness. (See above, No. XI. ▼. 10.)- Sugar at 
r resent it cheap and common ; and therefore suggests now a 
coarse and ▼olcar idea. 



had been born and educated in England, was but in 
his 21st year, when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 
1567-8. This crime was perpetrated by the Karl of 
Both well, not out of respect to the memory of Riccio, 
but in order to pave the way for his own marriage 
with the queen. 

This ballad, (printed, with a few corrections, from 
the Editor's- folio MS.) seems to have been written 
soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see 
v.65. — It will be remembered at v. 5, that this 
princess was Queen Dowager of France, haying been 
first married to Francis II. who died Dec 4, 1560. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande ! 

For thou hast ever wrought by sleight ; 
The worthyest prince that ever was borne, 

You banged under a cloud by night 

The Queene of France a letter wrote, 5 

And sealed itt with harte and ringe ; 

And bade him come Scotland within. 
And shee wold marry and crowne him kings. 



To be a king is a pleasant thing. 
To bee a prince unto a peere : 

But you have heard, and soe have I too, 
A man may well buy gold too deare 

S- *■ ■ - ■ — — — ■ - — - 
— — - 



SO 



A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



139 



There was an Italian in that pi 
Was as well beloved as ever 

Lord David was his name, 
Chamberlaine to the queene 



hee, 
hee. 



15 



If the king: had risen forth of his place, 

He wold have sate him downe in the cheare, 

And tho itt beseemed him not so well, 
Altho the tinge had beene present there. SO 

Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe, 
And quarrelled with him for the nonce ; 

I sliall yon tell bow it befell, 
Twelve daggers were in him att once. 

When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slsine. 
For him her fair* cheeks shee did weete, 26 

And made a vowe for a veare and s day 
Hie king and shee wold not come in one sheete. 

Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe, 
And made their tow all vehementlye ; 50 

For the death of the queenea chamberlaine, 
The king himselfe, bow he shall dye. 

With gun-powder they strewed his roome, 
And lay d greene rushes in his way: 

For the traitors thought that very night 55 

This worthye king for to betray. 

To bedd the king he made him bowne; 

To take his rest was his desire ; 
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe, 

But his chamber was on a biasing fire* 40 



Up he lope, and the window brake, 
And hee had thirtye foote to fall ; 
Lord Hodwell kept a privy watch, 
Underneath his castle wall. 

Who hare wee here ? Lord Bodwell sayd : 45 
Now answer me, that 1 may know. 

" King Henry ihe eighth my uncle was ; 
For his sweete sake some pitty show." 

Who have we here ? Lord Bodwell sayd, 

Now answer me when I doe speake. 50 

"Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well ; 
Some pitty on me I pray thee take." 

He pitty thee as much he sayd. 

And as much favor ahow to thee. 
As thou didst to the queenea chamberlaine, 5/) 

That day thou deemedst him to die*. 

Through halls and towers the kibg they ledd, 
Through towers and castles that were nye. 

Through an arbor into an orchard, 

There on a peare-tree hanged him hye. & 

When the governor of Scotland heard 
How that the worthye king was slaioe ; 

He persued the qpeen'so bitterly e, 

That in Scotland shee dare not remaine. 

But shee is fledd into merry England, 6 

And here her residence hath taine ; 
And through the Queene of England* grace, 

In England now shee doth remaine. 



XV. 

A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



The following lines, if they display no rich vein of 
poetry, are yet so strongly characteristic of their 
great and spirited authoress, that the insertion of 
them will be pardoned. They are preserved in Put- 
tenham's "Arte of English Poesie : a book in which 
ire many sly addresses to the queen's foible of shining 
is a poetess. The extraordinary manner in which 
hese verses are introduced shews what kind of ho- 
mage was exacted from the courtly writers of that 
age, via. 

M I find," saya this antiquated critic " none exam- 
ple in English metre, so well maintaining this figure 
[Exargana, or the Gorgeous, Let. Expotitio] as that 
aittie of her majesties owne making, passing sweete 
and barmonicall ; which figure beyng as his very 
original) name purporteth the most bewtifull and 
gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to be re- 
served for a last complement, and desciphred by a 
ladies nenne, herselfe beyng the most bewtifull, or 
rather bewtie of queenea*. And thia was the occa- 
sion ; our soyeraigne lady perceiving; how the Scottish 
queenea residence within this reaune at so great li- 
berie and ease (as were akarce meete for so great 
and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among 



Ver. 15, lie MS. 
• She was at thin tune near three ■co re. 



her people, and made many of the nobflitie incline to 
favour her partie: some of them desirous of innova- 
tion in the state : others aspiring to greater fortunes 
by her libertie and life : the queene our sovereign** 
ladie, to declare that she was nothing ignorant of those 
secret practizea, though she had long with great wis- 
dome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this dittie 
most sweete and sententious, not hiding from all 
such aspiring minds the danger of their ambition 
and disloyaltie ; which afterwards fell out most truly 
by th' exemplary chastisement of sundry persons, 
who in favour of the said Scot. Qu. declining from 
her majestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the 
realme by many evill and undutifull practises." 

This sonnet seems to have been composed in 1569, 
not long before the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of 
Pembroke and Arundel, the Lord Lumley, Sir Nich. 
Throcmorton, and others, were taken into custody. 
8ee Hume, Rapin, &c-—It was originally written ii 
long lines or alexandrines, each of which is here di- 
vided into two. 

The present edition is improved by some reading*? 
adopted from a copy printed in a collection from th< 
papers of Sir John Harrington, intituled, " Nuga 
Antiques," Lond. 1769, ltmo. where the verses a: 



* Pronounced after the northern manner dm. 



'(• 



140 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



accompanied with arery canons letter, in which this 
sonnet is said to be " of her Highness own inditing 
.... My Lady Willoughby did covertly get it on 
her Majesties tablet, and had much hazzard in so 
doing ; for the Queen did find out the thief, and chid 
for her spreading evil bruit of her writing such toyes, 
when other matters did sa occupy her employment 
at this time and was fearful of being thought too 
lightly of for so doing." ••* 

The doubt of future foes 

Exiles my present joy ; 
And wit me warnes to shun such snares, 

As threaten mine annoy. 

For falshood now doth flow, 5 

And subjects faith doth ebbe : 
Whicb would not be, if reason rul'd, 

Or wisdome wore the webbe. 

But clowdes of joyes untried 

Do cloake aspiring mindes ; 10 

Which turn to nine of late repent. 

By course of changed windes. 

The toppe of hope supposed 

The roote of rathe will be ; 
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15 

As shortly all shall see. 



Then dazeld eyes with pride. 

Which great ambition blindes, 
Shal be unseeld by worthy wights, 

Whose foresight falshood finds. fO 

The daughter of debate*, 

That discord ay doth sowe, 
Shal reape no game where former rule 

Hath taught stil peace to growe. 

No forreine bannisht wight 25 

Shall ancre in this port ; 
Our realme it brookes no strangers force, 

Let them elsewhere resort. 

Our rusty sworde with rest 

Shall first his edge employ, 30 

To poll the toppes, that seeke such change, 

Or gape for such like joy. 

nt 

tit I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet 
another distich of Elizabeth's preserved by Putten- 
ham (p. 197.) " which (says he) our soveraigne lady 
wrote in defiance of fortune." 

Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the sway, 
Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay. 
The slightest effusion of such a mind deserves at 
tention. 



XVI. 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



This ballad is a proof of the little intercourse that 
subsisted between the Scots and English, before the 
accession of James I. to the crown of England. The 
tale which is here so circumstantially related does 
not appear to have had the least foundation in his- 
tory, but was probably built upon some confused 
hearsay report of the tumults in Scotland during the 
minority of that prince, and of the conspiracies 
formed by different factions to get possession of his 
person. It should seem from ver. 97 to have been 
written during the regency, or at least before the 
death, of the Earl of Morton, who was condemned 
and executed June t, 1581 ; when James was in his 
fifteenth year. 

The original copy (preserved in the archives of 
the Antiquarian Society, London) is intitled, " A 
new Ballad, declaring the great treason conspired 
against the young king of Scots, and how one Andrew 
•Browne an English-man, which was the king's 
chamberlaine, prevented the same.* To the tune of 
Milfield, or els to Green-sleeves." - At the end is 
subjoined the name of the author, W. Elderton. 
" Imprinted at London for Yarathe James, dwelling 
in Newgate Market, over against Ch. Church," in 
black-letter folio. 

This Elderton, who had been originally an attorney 
in the sheriffs courts of London, and afterwards (if 
we may believe Oldys) a comedian, was a facetious 
fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes 
rendered him famous among his contemporaries. He 

▼•r. 1, dread, aL ed. Y. 9, toyes, al. ed. 



was author of many popular son gs and ballads ; 
and probably other pieces in this work, besides 
the following, are of his composing. He is believed 
to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year 
1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden, 
and translated by Oldys. 

Hie situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus, 
Quid dico hie situs est? hie potius sitis est. 

Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie ; 
Dead as he is, he still is dry : 
So of him it may well be said, 
Here he, but not his thirst, is laid. 

See Stow's LoncL [Guild-hall.] — Biogr. Brit 
[" Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.— Cam- 
den's Remains* — The Exale-tation of Ale, among 
Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653. 

" Out alas!" what a griefe is this 

That princes subjects cannot be true, 
But still the devill hath some of his, 

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue ; 
Forgetting what a grievous thing o 

It is to offend the anointed king? 
Alas for woe, why should it be so, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 



In Scotland is a bonnie kinge, 
As proper a youth as neede to be, 

Well given to every happy thing, 
That can be in a kinge to see : 



!(• 



* She evidently means here the Queen of Scots. 



KINO OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



141 



Yet thmt unluckie country still, 
Hath people given to oxarae will. 

Alas for woe, &c 15 

On Whitsun eve it so befell, 
A posset was made to give the king, 

Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell* 
And that it was a poysoned thing: 

She cryed, and callea piteouslie ; fO 

Now help, or els the king shall die ! 
Alas for woe, &c 

One Browne, that was an English man, 

And hard the ladies piteous crye, 
Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 15 

Out of the doores in haste to flie; 
Bat all the doores were made so fast, 
Out of a w indow he got at last. 
Alas, for woe, &c. 

He met the bishop coming fast, 30 

Having the posset in his hande : 
The sight of Browne made him aghast, 

Who bad him stoutly staie and stand. 
With him were two that ranne awa, 
For feare that Browne would make a fray. 35 
Alas, for woe, &c 

Bishop, qnoth Browne, what hast thou there 1 

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he ; 
But a posset to make the king good cheere. 

Is it so 7 sayd Browne, that will 1 see, 40 
First I will have thyself begin, 
Before thou go any further in ; 

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45 

Thou art a young man poore and bare ; 
Livings on thee I will bestowe : 

Let me go on, take thou no care. 
No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be 
A traitour for all Christiantie : 50 

Happe well or woe, it shall be so. 
Drink now with a aorrowfull, &c 

The bishop dranke, and by and by 

His belly burst and be fell downe : 
A just rewarde for his traitery. 55 

This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown ! 
He serched the bishop, and found the keyes, 
To come to the kinge when he did please. 
Alas for woe, &c. 

As soon as the king got word of this, 60 

He humbly fell uppon his knee. 
And praysed God that he did misse, 

To tast of that extremity : 
For that he did perceive and know, 
His chtrgie would betray him so : 65 

Alas for woe, Ace 



Alas, be said, unhappie realme, 

My father, and grandfather slaine : 
My mother banished, O extreame ! 

Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne ! 70 

And now uke treason wrought for me, 
What more unhappie realme can be ! 

Alas for woe, ic. 

The king did call his nurse to his grace, 

And gave her twenty poundes a yeere ; 75 

And trustie Browne too in like case, 

He knighted him with gallant geere : 
And gave him ' lands and livings great, 
Fordooing such a manly feat, 

As he did showe, to the bishop's woe, 80 
Which made, &c 

When all this treason done and past, 

Tooke not effect of traytery : 
Another treason at the last, 

They sought against his majestie : 85 

How they might make their kinge away, 
By a privie banket on a daye. 
Alas for wooy &o. 

' Another time' to sell the king 

Beyonde the seas tbey had decreede : 90 

Three noble Earles heard of this thing, 

And did prevent the same with speede. 
For a letter came, with such a charme, 
That they should doo their long no harme : 

For further woe, if they did soe, 95 

Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe, 

The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then, 
Take heede you do not offend the king ; 
But shew yourselves like honest men 

Obediently in every thing ; 100 

For his godmother * will not see 
Her noble child misus'd to be 

With any woe ; for if it be so, 
She will make, &c 

God graunt all subjects may be true, 105 

In England, Scotland, every where: 
That no such daunger may ensue, 

To put the prince or state in feare : 
That God the highest king may see 
Obedience as it ought to be, 119 

In wealth or woe, God graunt it be bo 
To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho. 



▼er. 67. Hi* father waa Henry Lord Darnley. Hit 
grandfather the old Burl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and 
father of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5. 
16TI. rr 

• Qneen Elisabeth. 



i4i 



YOUNG WATERS. 



XVII. 
THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. 



A SCOTTISH BONO. 



In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl of Both- 
well, had made an attempt to seize on the person of 
his sovereign James VI. but being disappointed, had 
retired towards the north. The long unadvisedly 
gave a commission to George Gordon Earl of Hunt- 
ley, to pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire 
and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing that 
commission, took occasion to revenge a private quar- 
rel he had against James Stewart Earl of Murray, a 
relation of BothwelTs. In the night of Feb. 7, 159S, 
he beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground, and 
slew Murray himself; a young nobleman of the most 
promising virtues, and the very darling of the people. 
See Robertson's History; r 

^ The present Lord Murray hath now in his posses- 
sion a picture of his ancestor naked and covered with 
wounds, which had been carried about, according to 
(he custom of that age, in order to inflame the popu- 
lace to revenge his death. If this picture did not 
flatter, he well deserved the name of the "Bonny 
Earl," for he is there represented as a tall and comely 

Sersonage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gor- 
on of Bucky gave him a wound in the face : Murray 
half expiring, said, "you bae spilt a better face than 
your awin." Upon this, Bucky, pointing his dagger 
at Huntley's breast, swore, " You khall be as deep as 
I ; " and forced him to pierce the poor defenceless 
body. 

King James, who took no care to punish the mur- 
derers, is said by some to have privately counte- 
nanced and abetted them, being stimulated by jealousy 
for some indiscreet praises which his queen had too 
lavishly bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See 



the preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. Wal- 
pole f s " Catalogue of Royal Authors," vol. I. p. 42. 

Yx highlands, and ye lawlands, 

Oh! quhair hae ye been? 
They hae slaine the Earl of Murray, 

And hae laid him on the green. 

Now wae be to thee, Huntley ! 5 

And quhairfore did you sae t 
I bade you bring him wi' you. 

But forbade you him to slay 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he rid at the ring ; 10 

And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh I he might hae been a king. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he played at the ba' ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray 15 

Was the flower among them a'. 

He was a braw gallant. 

And he playd at the gluve ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh ! he was the Queenes luve. SO 

Oh ! lang will his lady 

Luke owre the castle downe*, 
Ere she see the Earl of Murray 

Cum sounding throw the towne. 



XVIII. 
YOUNG WATERS. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



It has been suggested to the Editor, that this ballad 
covertly alludes to the indiscreet partiality, which 
Queen Anne of Denmark is said to have shewn for 
the " Bonny Earl of Murray;" and which is sup- 
posed to have influenced the fate of that unhappy 
nobleman. Let the reader judge for himself. 

The following account of the murder is given by a 
contemporary writer, and a person of credit, 8ir James 
Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Arms, whose MS. of 
the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocate's library 
at Edinburgh. 

" The seventh of Febry, this seire, 1592, the Earle 
of Murray was cruelly numbered by the Earle of 
Huntley at his house in Dunibrissel in Fyffe-shyre, 
and with him Dunbar, sheriffe of Murray. It was 



S'ven out and publickly talkt, that the Earle ot 
untley was only the instrument of perpetrating this 
facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Murray, 
quhum the Queene, more rashly than wisely, some 
few days before had commendit in the King's hearing, 
with too many epithets of a proper and gallant man. 
The reasons of these surmises proceedit from a pro- 
clamatione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche following : 
inhibiteine the xoung Earle of Murray to persue the 
Earle of Huntley, for his father's slaughter, in re- 
spect he being wardeit [imprisoned] in the castell of 
Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to 

• Castle downe here hat been thought to mean the Castle 
of Downe, a seat belonging to the family of Murray. 



AJAKt AMBK&E. 



abide a tryall, averring that he had done nothing 
but by the King's majesties commissions ; and was 
neither airt nor part in the murther*." 

The following ballad is here given from a copy 
printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo. 
The world was indebted for its publication to the Lady 
Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, who died at 
Gibraltar. 

About Zule, qnhen the wind blew cule, 

And the round tables began, 
A' ! there is cum to our kings court 

Mony a well-favourd man* 

The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5 

Beheld haith dale and down, 
And then she saw zoung Waters 

Cum riding to the town. 

His footmen they did rin before, 

His horsemen rade behind, 10 

Ane mantel of the burning gowd 

Did keip him free the wind. 

Gowden graith'd his horse before 

And siller shod behind, 
The horse song Waters rade upbn 15 

Was fleeter than the wind. / 

But than spake a wylie lord, 

Unto the queen said he, 
tell me qhua's the fairest face 

Rides in the company. 2C 

Pre sene lord, and I've sene laird, 

And knights of high degree : 
Bot a fairer face than soung VVken 

Mine erne did never see. / 



Out then spack the jealous king, 
(And an angry man was he) 

O, if he had been twice as fair, 
Zou micht hare excepted me. 

Zou*re neither laird nor lord, she says, 
Bot the king that wears the crown ; 

Theris not a knight in fair Scotland 
Bot to thee maun bow down. 



For a* that she could do or say, 

Appeasd he wad nne bee ; 
Bot for the words which she had Jaid 

Zoung Waters he maun dee. / 

They hae taen soung Waters, and 

Put fetters to his feet ; 
They hae taen soung Waters, and 

Thrown him in dungeon deep. 

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town 
In the wind both and the weit ; 

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 
Wi fetters at my feet. 

Aft hare I ridden thro' Stirling; town 
In the wind both and the ram ; 

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 
Neir to return again. 

They hae tean to the heiding-hill * 
His soung son in his craddle, 

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill, 
His horse both and his saddle. 

They hae taen to the heiding-hill 

His lady fair to see. 
And for the words the queen had spoke 

Zoung Waters he did dee. 



,4„ 
t5 



30 



55 



40 



45 



50 



55 



XIX. 
MARY AMBREE. 



In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the com- 
mand of Alexander Farneseprince of Parma, began 
jo gain great advantages in Flanders and Brabant, by 

ecovermg many strong holds and cities from the 
Hollanders, aa Ghent, (called then by the English 
Gaunt,) Antwerp, Mechlin, ceo. 8ee Stow's Annals, 
p. 711. Some attempt made with the assistance of 
English volunteers to retrieve the former of those 

*aces probably gave occasion to this ballad. I can 
fnd no mention of our heroine in history, but the 

ollowing rhymes rendered her famous among our 

•oets. Ben Jonson often mentions her, and calls 
any remarkable virago by her name. See his Epi- 
cene, first acted in 1609, Act 4, sc 2. His Tale of 
Tub, Act 1, sc 4b And his masque intitled the 
Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he quotes the very 
words of the ballad, 

M art Ambuss, 
(Who marched so free 

* Tliii extract b copied from the Critical Review. 



To the siege of Gaunt, 
And death could not daunt, 
As the ballad doth vaunt) 
Were a braver wight, &c. 

She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful Lady, 
Act 5, tubfinem. 

" — " My large gentlewoman, my " Mary Ambree," 
had I but seen mto you, you should have had another 
bedfellow." 

It is likewise evident that she is the virago in- 
tended by Butler in Hudibras (P. 1. c. 3, v. S65.), 
bv her being coupled with John <TArc, the celebrated 
UructUs dt OrUanMm 

A bold virago stout and tall 

As Joan of France, or English MalL 

This ballad is printed from a black-letter copy in 
the Pepys Collection, improved from the Editor's 

• Heiding-hill ; I. e. heading [beheading] MIL The place 
of ewcadon was anciently an artificial biUoctu 



14* 



MARY AMBREE. 



folio MS. and by conjecture. The full title is 
" The valourous acts performed at Gaunt by the 
brave bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of 
her lovers death did play her part most gallantly. 
The tune is, The blind beggar, &c." 

When captaines couragious, whom death cold not 

daunte, 
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, 
They mustred their souldiers by two and by three. 
And the formost is battle was Mary Ambree. 

When brave Sir John Major * was slaine in her 
sight, 5 

Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight, 
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie. 
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree. 

SLe clothed herselfe from the top to the toe 
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to shows ; 10 
A faire shirt of male f then slipped on shoe ; 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree ? 

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, 
A strong arminge sword shee girt by her side, 
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee ; 15 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree ? 

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand. 
Bidding all snch, as wold, bee of her band ; 
To wayte on her person came thousand and three : 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree 1 SO 

My soldiers, she saith, soe valliant and bold, 
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholds j 
Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree 1 

Then cryed out her souldiers and loude they did 
say, *5 

Soe well thou becomest this gallant array, 
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree, 
There was none ever like Mary Ambree. 

Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life, 
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with 
fife, St 

With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free; 
Was not- this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree 1 

Before I will see the worst of you all 

To come into danger of death, or of thrall, 

This hand and this life I will venture so free : 35 

Was' not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree 1 



• So If .8. Serjeant Major in PC. 

t A peculiar kind of armour, composed of tmall ringi of 
iron, and worn under the clothe*. It it mentioned by 
Spencer, who speaks of the Irish Gallowglass or Foot- 
soldier as " armed in a long Shirt of Mayl." (View of the 
Stats of Ireland.) 



Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array, 
Gainst three times theyr number by breaks of the 

daye; 
Seven bowers in skirmish continued shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 441 

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her short, 
And her enemyes bodyes with bullets so hott ; 
For one of her owne men a score killed shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree t 

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, 4& 
Away all her pellets and powder had sent, [three . 
Straight with her keen weapon shee slanht him in 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre, 
At length she was forced to make a retyre ; 50 

Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree 1 

Her foes they besett her on everye side, 

As thinking close siege shee cold never abide ; 

To beats down the walles they all did decree : 55 

But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree. 

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand. 
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand, 
There daring their captaines to match any three : 
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree ! 60 

Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give 
To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live T 
Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee, 
Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree. 

Ye captaines couragions, of valour so bold, 65 

Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold 1 
A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free, 
Who shortleye with us a prisoner must bee. 

No, captaine of England ; behold in your sight 
Twobrestsmmybosome, and therfore no knight: 70 
Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see, 
But a poor simple lass called Mary Ambree. 

But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare, 
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre t 
If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee, 75 
Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree. 

The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne 
Who long had advanced for England's faire crowne; 
Hee wooed her, and sued her his mistress to bee 
And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree. 60 

But this virtuous mayden despised them all. 
He nere sell my honour for purple nor pall : 
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee 
The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree. 

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne, 85 
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne : 
Therfore English captaines of every degree 
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree. 



DRAVK LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 



140 



XX. 
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 



Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby of Eresby had, 
in the year 1586, distinguished himself at the siege 
of Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was the 
year after, made general of the English forces in the 
United Provinces, in room of the Earl of Leicester, 
who was recalled. This gave him an opportunity of 
signalising his courage and military skill in several 
actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly 
exaggerated by popular report, is probably the sub- 
ject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flat- 
tering encomiums on English valour, hath always 
been a favourite with the people. 

"My Lord Wifioughbie (says a contemporary 
writer; was one of the qneenes best swordsmen : 
... .he was a great master of the art military. . . . I 
have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the 
court, but applied himselfe to the queene, he might 
have enjoyed a plentirull portion of her grace ; and 
it was his saying, and it did him no good, that he 
was none of the Reptilia ; intimating, that he could 
not creepe on the ground, and that the court was 
not his element ; for, indeed, as he was a great soul* 
dier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could 
not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the 
court. "•*— (Naunton.) 

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601^-Both Norris 
and Turner were famous among the military men of 
that age. 

The subject of this ballad (which is printed from 
an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural 
emendations,) may possibly receive illustration from 
what Chapman says in the dedication to his version 
of Homer's Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave 
and memorable retreat of Sir John Norris, with 
only 1000 men, through the whole Spanish army, 
under the Duke of Parma, for three miles together* 

The fifteenth dsy of July, 

With glistering *pear and shield, 
A famous fight in Flanders 

Was foughten in the field: 
The most couragious officers 5 

Were English captains three ; 
But the bravest man in battel 

Was brave Lord Willoughbey. 

The next was Captain Norris* 

A valiant man was bee : JO 

The other Captain Turner, 

From field would never flee. 
With fifteen hundred fighting man, 

Alas ! there were no more, 
They fought with fourteen thousand then, 15 

Upon the bloody shore. 

Stand to it noble pikemen, 

And look you round about : 
And shoot you right you bow-men, 

And we will keep them out : 20 

You musquet and caliver men, 

Do you prove true to me, 
lie be the formost man in fight, 

Says brave Lord Willoughbey. 



And then the bloody enemy 

They fiercely did assail, 
And fought it out most furiously, 

Not doubting to prevail : 
The wounded men on both sides fell 

Most pitious for to see, 
Yet nothing could the courage quell 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 

For seven hours, to all men's view. 

This fight endured sore, 
Until our men so feeble grew 

That they could fight no more ; 
And then upon dead horses, 

Full savourly they eat, 
And drank the puddle water, 

They could no better get. 

When they had fed so freely, 

They kneeled on the ground, 
And praised God devoutly 

For the favour they had found ; 
And beating up their colours, 

The fight they did renew, 
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard, 

A thousand more they slew. 

The sharp steel-pointed arrows, 

And bullets thick did fly ; 
Then did our valiant soldiers 

Charge on most furiously ; 
Which made the Spaniards waver, 

They thought it best to flee, 
They tearM the stout behaviour 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 

Then quoth the Spanish general, 

Come let us inarch away, 
I fear we shall be spoiled all 

If here we longer stay ; 
For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey 

With courajge fierce and fell, 
He will not give one inch of way 

For all the devils in helL 

And then the fearful enemy 

Was quickly put to flight. 
Our men peraued couragiously, 

And caught their forces quite ; 
But at last they gave a shout, 

Which ecchoed through the sky, 
God, and St. George for England ! 

The conquerors did cry. 

This news was brought to England 

With all the speed might be, 
And soon our gracious queen was told 

Of this same victory. 
O this is brave Lord Willoughbey, 

My love that ever won, 
Of all the lords of honour 

'Tis he great deeds hath done. 



«5 



50 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



146" 



THE WINNING OF CALES. 



To the souldiers that were maimed, 

And wounded in the fray, 
The queen allowed a pension 

Of fifteen pence a day ; 
And from all costs and charges 

She quit and set them free : 
And this she did all for the sake 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



85 



Then courage, noble Englishmen, 

And never be dismaid ; 
If that we be but one to ten, 

We will not be afraid 
To fight with foreign enemies, 

And set our nation free. 
And thus I end the bloody bout 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



90 



95 



XXL 

VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH. 



This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed appli- 
cation to the heroes of the foregoing and following 
ballads, that I cannot help placing it here, though 
the date of its composition is of a much later period. 
It is extracted from " Cupid and Death, a masque 
by J. S. [James Shirley] presented Mar. 26, 1653. 
London, printed 1653," 4to. 

Victorious men of earth, no more 
Proclaim how wide your empires are 

Though you binde in every shore, 
And your triumphs reach as far 



As night or day ; 
Yet you proud monarchs must obey, 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls yee to the croud of common men. 

Devouring famine, plague, and war, 

Each able to undo mankind, 
Death's servile emissaries are : 

Nor to these alone confin'd, 

He hath at will 

More quaint and subtle wayes to kill ; 
A smile or kiss, as be will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart 



10 



15 



XXII. 

THE WINNING OF CALES 



The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city 
of Cadiz, (called by our sailors corruptly Cales) on 
June 91, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of 
Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard 
admiral, and the Earl of Essex general. 

The valour of Essex was not more distinguished 
on this occasion than his generosity : the town was 
carried sword in hand, but he stopt the slaughter as 
soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the 
greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. 
The English made a rich plunder in the city, but 
missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the 
Duke of Medina the Spanish admiral took, of setting 
fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling 
into the hands of the enemy. It was computed, that 
the loss which the Spaniards sustained from this 
enterprise, amounted to twenty millions of ducats. 
See Hume's History. 

The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not 
fewer than sixty persons, which gave rise to the fol- 
lowing sarcasm : 

A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales, 

And a laird of the North country ; 
But a yeoman of Kent with bis yearly rent 
- Will buy them out all three. 

The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from 
the Editor's folio MS. and seems to have been com- 
posed by some person, who was concerned in the 
expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it 
A-ill be found supported by history. 



Long the proud Spaniards bad vaunted to conquer us, 

Threatning our country with fyer and sword ; 
Often preparing their navy most sumptuous 
With as great plenty as Spain could afford. 

Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums : 
Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes. 6 

To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral, 
With knights courageous and captafns full good ; 

The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general, 
With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 10 

Dub a dub, Ace. 

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship yaliantlye, 

Braver ships never were seen under sayla 
With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore 
their head, 
Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle. 
Dub a dub, &c 16 

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedily©, 
Where the kinges navy- securely e did ryde ; 

Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks, 
Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde. SO 

Dub a dub, etc. 

m * 

Great was the crying, the running and ryding, 
Which at that season was made in that place ; 

The beacons were fyred, as need then required ; 
To hyde their great tieasure they had little space. 
Dub a dub, &c. 25 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



14* 



There you might see their ships, how they were 
fyredfiut, 
And how their men drowned themselves in the see ; 
There might yon hear them cry, wayle and weep 
piteously, 
When they saw no shift to scape thence away. 50 
Dub a duo, &c 

The great St Phillip, the pryde o(the Spaniards, 
Was burnt to the bottom, and snnk in the sea ; 

But the St Andrew, and eke the St Matthew, 
We took in fight manfullye and brought away. 35 
Dub a dub, ficc 

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye, [town ; 

With horsemen and footmen marched up to the 

The Spaniards, which saw them, were greatly 

alarmed, [down. 40 

Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all, 
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have ; 

And be well rewarded all from the great to the small ; 

But looke that the women and children you save. 

Dub a dub, &c. 46 

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight, 
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne ; 



Wee marched in presentlye. decking the walls on bye. 
With English colours which purchased renowne. 
Dub a dub, ficc. 51 

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men. 
For gold and treasure we searched eche day ; 

In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind, 
Meate at fire resting, and folkes run away. 55 
Dub a dub, etc 

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched our eyes. 

Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre ; 
Which soldiers measured out by the length of their 
swords ; 
Of all commodities eche had a share. 60 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Thus Cales was taken, and onr brave general 

March 'd to the market-place, where he did stand : 

There many prisoners fell to our several shares, 
Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd. 65 
Dub a dub, ficc 

When our brave General saw they delayed all, 

And wold not ransome their towne as they said, 
With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds, 
Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made ; 70 
And when the town burned all in flame, 
With tan, tantara, away wee all came. 



XXI It. 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



This beautiful old ballad most probably took its 
rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish 
coasts in the time of Queen Elizabeth ; and in all 
likelihood from that which is celebrated in the fore- 
going ballad. 

It was a tradition in the West of England, that 
the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gen- 
tleman of the Popham family, and that her picture, 
with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was 
not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near 
Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable 
family. 

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard 
Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the sub- 
ject of this ballad ; who married Margaret daughter 
of Charles Earl of Nottingham ; and was eminently 
distinguished as a naval officer and commander in 
all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter 
end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that 
to Cadis in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died 
in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in 
brass, in Wolverhampton church. 

It is printed from an ancient back letter copy, 
corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS. 

Will yon hear a Spanish lady, 

How ahee wooed an English man t 
Garments gay as rich as may be 

Decked with jewels she had on. 
Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5 

And by birth and parentag* of high degree. 



As his prisoner there he kept her, 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bands did tye them faster 

By the liking of an eye. 10 

In his courteous company was all her joy, 
To favour him in any thing she was not cov 

But at last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
With their jewels still adorned, 15 

None to do them injury. 
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me ; 
O let me still sustain this kind captivity I 

Gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a ladve in distresse ; 
Leave me not within this city, 

For to dye in heavinease : 
Thou hast set this present day my body free, 
But my heart in prison still remains with thee. 

" How should'st thou, fair lady, love me. 15 

Whom thou knowst thy country's foe ? 

Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 
Serpents lie where flowers grow." 

All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight, 

God grant the same upon my head may fully tight 30 

Blessed be the time and season, 

That you came on Spanish ground , 
If our foes you may be termed, 

Gentle foes we have you found : 



V 

148 



ARGKNTILE AND CURAN. 



ii 



l -r • fci ■ i <■ 



- t 



With ouf city, you have won our hearts echo one, 35 
Then to your country bear away, that is your owne. 



40 



45 



" Rest you still, most gallant lady ; 

Rest you still, and weep no more ; 
Of fair lovers there is plenty, 

Spain doth yield a wonderous store.'* 
Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, 
But Englishmen through all the world are counted 
kind. 

Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart ; 
I am lovely, young, and tender, 

Love is likewise my desert : 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest ; 
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest. 

" It wold be a shame, fair lady, 

For to bear a woman hence ; 50 

English soldiers never carry 

Any such without offence." 
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, 
And like a page lie follow thee, where'er thou go. 

" I have neither gold nor silver 55 

To maintain thee in this case, 
And to travel is great charges. 

As you know in every place." 
My chain* and jewels every one shal be thy own, 
And eke five hundred* pounds in gold that lies 
unknown. 60 

" On the sens are many dangers, 

Many storms do there arise, 
Which wil be to ladies dreadful, 

And force tears from watery eyes.'* 
Well in troth I shall endure extremity, 65 

For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee. 



" Courteous ladye, leave this fancy 
Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 

I in England have already 

A sweet woman to my wife : 70 

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, 

Nor yet for all -the fairest dames that live in Spain.** 



75 



O how happy is that woman 

That enjoys so true a friend ! 
Many happy days God send her ; 

Of my suit I make an end : 
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence, 
Which did from love and true affection first com 
mence. 



Commend me to thy lovely lady, 

Bear to her this chain of gold ; 
And these bracelets for a token ; 

Grieving that I was so bold : 
All my jewels in like tori take thou with thee. 
For tbry are fitting for thy wife, but not for me. 



80 



95 



I will spend my days in prayer, 

Love and all her lawa defye ; 
In a nunnery will I shroud mee 

Far from any corapanye : 
But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this, 
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90 

Thus farewell most gallant captain ! 

Farewell too my heart's content ! 
Count not Spanish ladies wanton, 

Though to thee my love was bent : 
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! 95 

" The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladle.*' 



XXIV. 
ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



— Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in 
X 111. Books, intitled, " Albion's England, by William 
Warner :" " An author (says a former Editor) only 
unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of 
his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British 
history, and written with great learning, sense, and 
spirit ; in some places fine to an extraordinary de- 
gree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing 
episode [of Argentile and Curan,] — a tale full of 
beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely 
affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in 
style ; and in short, one of the most beautiful pasto- 
rals 1 ever met with." [Muses library, 1738. 8vo«] 
To his merit nothing can be objected, unless perhaps 
an affected quaintness in some of his expressions, 
and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images. 

Warner is said, by A. Woodf, to have been a 
Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in 
Oxford, at Magdalene-hall : as also in the latter part 
of bis life to have been retained in the service of 

Ver. 85, Well in worth, MS. 
• So the MS.— Ml/Moi. PC. t Allien. Or*.. , 



Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates 
his poem. However that may have been, new light 
is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner 
of his death are now ascertained, by the following 
extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in 
Hertfordshire ; which was obligingly communicated 
to the editor by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious trans- 
lator of Tasso, &c. 

[1608 — 1609.] " Master William Warner, a man 
of good yeares and of honest reputation ; by his pro- 
fession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas ; author 
of Albions England, diynge suddenly in the night in 
his bedde, without any former complaynt orsicknesse, 
on tbursday night beeinge the 9th aaye of March ; 
was buried the satturday following, and lyeth in the 
church at the corner under the stone of Walter 
Ffader." Signed Tho. H assail Vicarius. 

Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his 
Contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, 
and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age* 

Ver. 80. So the folio MS. Other editions read hit laws. 

• Athen. Oxon. 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



149 



1 



But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Meta- 
sorphosis be seems to have taken for his model, 
laying deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge 
down to the en of Elizabeth, rail of lively digressions 
and entertaining episodes. And though he is some- 
times harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays 
a most charming and pathetic simplicity : as where 
he describes Eleanors harsh treatment of Rosa- 
mond : 

With that she dasht her on the lippes 

So dyed double red : 
Hard was the heart that gare the blow, 

Soft were those lippes that bled. 

The edition of "Albion's England" here followed 
was printed in 4to, 1602 j said in the title-page to 
bave been " first penned and published by William 
Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the 
same author." The story of " Argentile and Curan" 
is, I believe, the poet's own invention ; it is not men- 
tioned in any of our chronicles. It was, however, 
so muoh admired, that not many years after he pub- 
lished it, oame out a lareer poem on the same subject 
in stanzas of six lines, intitled, " The most pleasant 
and delightful historic of Curan a prince of Danske, 
and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre 
to Adel bright, sometime Kingof Northiunberland,&c. 
by William Webster, London 1617," in eight sheets 
4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the following poem. 
—This episode of W arner's has also been altered into 
the common Ballad, " of the two young Princes on 
Salisbury Plain," which is chiefly composed of War- 
ner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, 
but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of 
Historical Ballads, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo. 

Though here subdivided into stanzas, Warner's 
metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine of fourteen 
syllables. The reader therefore must not expect 
to find the close of the stanzas consulted in the 
pauses. 

The Bruton's 'being' departed hence 

Seaven kingdoms here begonne, 
Where diversity in divers broyles 

The Saxons lost and wonne. 

King Edel and King Adelbright 5 

In Diria jointly raigne ; 
In loyal Concorde during life 

These kingly friends remaine. 

When Adelbright should leave his life, 
To Edel thug he sayes , 10 

By those same bonds of happie love, 
That held us friends alwaies ; 

By our by-parted crowne, of which 

The moyetie is mine ; 
By God, to whom my soule must passe, 15 

And so in time may thine ; 

I pray thee, nay I conjure thee, 

To nourish, as thine owne, 
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, 

Till she to age be growne ; 20 

And then, as thou receivest it, 

Resigne to her my throne. 

A promise had foi his bequest, 

The testator he dies ; 
But all that Edel undertooke, 2% 

He afterwards denies. 



Yet well he ' fosters for* a time 

The damsell that was growne 
The fairest lady under heaven ; 

Whose beautie being knowne, 

A many princes seeke her love ; 

But none might her obtaine ; 
For grippell Edel to himselfe 

Her kingdome sought to gaine ; 
And for that cause from sight of such 

He did his ward restrains. 

By chance one Curan, sonne unto 

A prince in Danske, did see 
The maid, with whom he fell in love, 

As much as man might bee. 

Unhappie youth, what should he doet 

His saint was kept in mewe j 
Nor he, nor any noble-man 

Admitted to ner vewe. 

One while in melancholy fits 

He pines himselfe awsye : 
Anon he thought by force of arms 

To win her if he maye : 

And still against the kings restraint 

Did secretly invay. 
At length the high controller Love, 

Whom none may disobey, 

Imbased him from lordlines 

Into a kitchen drudge, 
That so at least of life or death 

She might become his judge. 

Accesse so had to see and speake, 

He did his love bewray, 
And tells his birth : her answer was. 

She husbandles would stay. 

Meane while the king did beate his braines, 

His booty to atchieve, 
Nor caring what became of her, 

So he by her might thrive ; 
At last his resolution was 

Some peasant should her wive. 

And (which was working to his wish) 

He did observe with ioye 
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, 

Scapt many an amorous toye •• 

The king, perceiving such his veine, 

Promotes his vassal still, 
Lest that the basenesse of the man 

Should lett, perhaps, his wilL 

Assured therefore of his loye, 

But not suspecting who 
The lover was, the king himselfe 

In his behalf did woe. ' 



50 



S5 



10 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



• The contraction Is, " How that many an amoroai toy, 
4* footeiy of love, 'scaped Caran ;" L e.escape4 irom hnn, 
being oft his guard. 



l~ 



150 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



The lady resolute from love. 

Unkindly takes that he 
Should barre the noble, and unto 

So base a match agree : 

And therefore shifting out of doores. 

Departed thence by stealth ; 
Preferring povertie before 

A dangerous life in wealth. 

When Curan heard of her escape, 

The anguish in his hart 
Was more than much, and after her 

From court he did depart ; 

Forgetful] of himselfe, his birth, 

His country, friends, and all, 
And only minding (whom he mist) 

The foundresse of his thrall. 

Nor meanes he after to frequent 

Or court, or stately townes, 
But solitarily to live 

Amongst the country grownes 

A brace ef years he lived thus, 

Well pleased so to lire, 
And shepherd-like to feed a flocke 

Himselfe did wholly give. 

So wasting, lore, by worke, and want, 

Grew almost to the waine : 
But then began a second love, 

The worser of the twaine 

A country wench, a neatherds maid, 
Where Curan kept his sbeepe, 

Did feed her drove : and now on her 
Was all the shepherds keepe. 

He borrowed on the working daies 

His holy russets oft, 
And of the bacon's fat, to make 

His startops blaoke and soft. 

And least his tarboz should offend, 

He left it at the folde . 
Sweete growte, or wig, his bottle had, 

As much as it might holde. 

A sheeve of bread as browne as nut 
And cheese as white as snow, 

And wildings, or the seasons fruit 
He did in scrip bestow. 

And whilst his py-bald cnrre did sleepe, 
And sheep-hooke lay him by, 

On hollow quilles of oten straw 
He piped melody. 

But when he spyed her his saint, 

He wip'd his greasie shooes, 
And clear'd the drivell from his beard, 

And thus the shepheard wooes. 

" I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, 
As good as toofb may ohawe, 

And bread and wildings souling well, 
And therewithal! did drawe. 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



120 



125 



130 



* Yer. Ill, I. • holy-day Ruwets. 



His lardrie) and in ' yeaning' see 155 

" Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he, 
Did twinne this fall, and twin ahouldst thon, 

If I might tup with thee. 

" Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, 

Too elvish and too coy : 140 

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, 

That such a flocke enjoy 1 

" I wis I am not : yet that thou 

Doest hold me in disdaine 
Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe 14 1 * 

To all that keepe this plaine. 

" There be as quaint (at least that thinke 

Themselves as quaint) that crave 
The match, that thou, I wot not why, 

Maist, but mislik'st to have 150 



" How wouldst thou match ? (for well I wot, 

" Thou art a female) I, 
Her know not here that willingly 

With maiden-head would die. 



" The plowmans labour hath no end 

Ajid he a churle will prove : 
The craftsman hath more worke in hand 

Then fitteth unto love : 

" The merchant, traffiquing abroad, 

Suspects his wife at home : 
A youth will play the wanton ; and 

An old man prove a mome. 

" Then chuse a shepheard : with the sun 

He doth his flocke unfold, 
And all the day on hill or plaine 

He merrie chat can hold j 

" And with the sun doth folde againe ; 

Then jogging home berime, 
He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, 

Or sings some merry ryme. 

" Nor lacks he gleefull tales, whilst round 
The nut-brown bow] doth trot ; 

And sitteth singing care away. 
Till he to bed be got : 



155 



160 



165 



170 



ft 



«< 



Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, 
Forgetting morrow-cares : 
Nor feares he blasting of his come, 
Nor uttering of his wares ; 

" Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land, 

Or cracke of credit lost : 
Not spending franklier than his flocke 

Shall still defray the cost. 

" Well wot I, sooth they say, that say 
More quiet nights and and daies 

The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he 
Whose cattel he doth graize. 



175 



180 



185 



Yer. 135, Eating PCC. V. 153, Her know I uotber that, 
1603. V. 100, i. e. roasts a crab, or apple. V. 171 to tell, 
whibt round the bole doth trot. Ed. 16W. 



r*z 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



151 



" Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but 

A man, and so am I ; 
Content is worth a monarchic 

And mischiefs hit the hie ; 190 

* As late it did a king and his 

Not dwelling far from hence. 
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, 

For fair a matchless wench." 

Here did be pause, as if his tongue 195 

Had done Lis heart offence. 

The neatresse, longing for the rest, 

Did eg^e him on to tell 
How mire she was, and who she was* 

8he bore, quoth he, the bell 200 

" For beau tie : though I clownish am, 

1 know what beautie is ; 
Or did I not, at seeing thee, 

I senceles were to mis. 



" Her stature comely, tall ; her gate 205 

Well graced *, ana her wit 
To marvell at, not meddle with, 

As matchless I omit. 

" A globe-like head, a gold -like haire, 

A forehead smooth, and hie, 210 

An even nose ; on either side 
Did shine a grayish eie : 

" Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, 

White just-set teeth within ; 
A mouth in meane , and underneathe 915 

A round and dimpled chin. 

" Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, 

Stood bolt upright upon 
Her portly shoulders : beating balles 

Her veined breasts, anon 220 

" Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was 

Her middle falling still. 
And rising whereas women rise :• • • 

— Imagine nothing ilL 

" And more, her long, and limber armes 225 

Had white and azure wrists ; 
And sltnder fingers aims were to 

Her smooth and lillie fists. 

" A legge in print, a pretie foot ; 

Conjecture of the rest : 230 

For amorous eies, observing forme, 

Think parts obscured best 

" With these, O raretie ! with these 

Her tong of speech was spare ; 
But speaking, Venus seem'dto speake, 235 

The balle from Ide to bear. 

" With Phoebe, Juno, and with both 

Herselfe contends in face ; 
Wheare equall mixture did not want 

Of mi Ide and stately grace. 240 



" Her smiles were sober, and her lookes 

Were chearefull unto all : 
Even such as neither wanton seeme, 

Kor waiward ; mell, nor gall. 



" A quiet minde, a patient moode, 
And not disdaining any; 
ot gybing, gadding, gawdy : and 
Sweete faculties had many. 



And not disdaining any; 
Not gybing, gadding, gawd 

had many 

"A nimph, bo tong, no heart, no eie, 
Might praise, might wish, might see , 

For life, for love, for forme ; more good, 
More worth, more faire than shoe. 

" Yea such an one, as such was none. 

Save only she was such : 
Of Argentile to say the most, 

Were to be silent much." 

I knew the lady very well, 
But worthies of such praise, 

The neatresse said : and muse I do, 
A shepheard thus should blase 

The ' coate' of beautie*. Credit me, 
Thy latter speech bewraies. 

Thy clownish shape a coined shew. 

But wherefore dost thou weepe ? 
The shepheard wept, and she was woe, 

And both doe silence keepe. 

" In troth, quoth he, I am not such, 

As seeming I professe : 
But then for her, and now for thee, 

I from myselfe digress©. 



a 



245 



250 



255 



.260 



265 



270 



275 



Her loved I (wretch that I am 
A recreant to be) 
I loved her, that bated love, 
But now I die for thee. 

" At Kirkland is my fathers court, 

And Curan is my name, 
In Edels court sometimes in pompe, 

Till love countrould the same : 

° But now — what now?— deare heart, how now? 

What ailest thou to weepe V 280 

The damsell wept, and he was woe, 

And both did silence keepe. 

I graunt, quoth she, it was too much, 

That you did love so much : 
But whom your former could not move. 

Your second love doth touch. 

Thy twice-beloved Argentile 

Submitteth her to thee, 
And for thy double love presents 

Herself*a single fee, 
In passion not in person chang'd. 

And I, my lord, am she. 

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, 

And silent for a space. 
When as the extasie had end, 

Did tenderly imbrace ; 
And for their wedding, and their wish 

Got fitting time and place. 

• i. e. embUson beanty't coat. Ed. 1597, 100? 1012, read 
Coot*. 



185 



290 



295 



15* 



JANE SHORE. 



Not England (for of Hengist then 

Was named so this land) 900 

Then Ouran had an hardier knight; 

His force could none withstand : 
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then 

Had higher things in hand. 

First, making knowne his lawfoll claime 305 

In Areenale her right, 
He warra in Diria*, and he wonne, 

Beraicia'too in fight : 



And so from trecherous Edel tooke 
At once his life and crowne. 

And of Northumberland was king, 
Long raigning in renowne. 



310 



• • 



During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of 
Northumberland (consisting of six northern counties, 
besides part of Scotland) was for a long time divided 
into two lesser sovereignties, via. Deira (called here 
Diria) which contained the southern parts, and lier- 
nicia, comprehend those which lay north. 



XXV. 

CORING FATE. 



Only the three first stanzas of this song are 
ancient} these are extracted from a small quarto 
MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time 
of Queen Elisabeth. As they seemed to want appli- 
cation, thia has been attempted by a modern hana. 

Coant t most unhappie swaine, 

Whither wilt thou drive thy flockeT 

Little foode Is on the plaine ; 
Full of danger is the rocke : 

Wolfe* and beares doe kepe the woodai ; 5 

Forests tanglea are witn brakes : 
Meadowes subject are to floodes ; 

Moores are full of miry lakes. 



Yet to shun all plaine, and bill, 
Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 

Hunger will as surely kill : 
How may then reliefe be found t 



10 



Such is hapless Conns fate : 

Since my waywarde love begunne, 

EquaU doubts begett debate 

What to seeke, and what to shunne. 



8pare to speke, and spare to speed ; 

Yet to speke will move disdaine : 
If I see her not I bleed, 

Yet her sight augments my peine. 



What may then poor Corin doe 1 
Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell; 

For to linger thus in woe 
Is the lover's sharpest helL 



15 



to 



• • 



XXVI. 



JANE SHORE. 



Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed 
concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character in 
history has been more perfectly handed down to us. 
We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens ; 
the one has delineated the features of her person, 
the other those of her character and' story. Sir 
Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has 
copied an original picture of her. The reader will 
pardon the length of the quotations, as they serve to 
correct many popular mistakes relating to her catas- 
trophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's His- 
tory of Richard III. written in 1513, about thirty 
years after the death of Edward IV. 

" Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not 
for covetise, the protector sent into the house of 
shores wife (for her husband dwelled not with her) 
and spoiled her of al that ever she had, (above the 
value of S o* 1 3 thousand marks) and sent her body 
to prison. And when he had a while laide unto her, 
for the manner sake that she went about to bewitch 
him, and that she ~as of counsel with the lord 
chamberlein to destroy him: in c* e'teioj 



that no colour could fasten upon these matters, then 
he layd heinously to her charge the thing that ber- 
selfe could not deny, that al the world wist was 
true, and that natheless every man laughed at to 
here it then so sodainly so highly taken, — that ahe 
was naught of her body. And for thys cause, (as a 
goodly continent prince, dene and fautless of him- 
self, sent out of heaven into this vicious world for 
the amendment of mens manners) be caused the 
bishop of London to put her to open pennance, 
going before the crosse in procession upon a sonday 
with a taper in her hand. In which she went in 
countenance and pace demure so womanly ; and al- 
beit she was out x>f al array save her kyrtle only, yet 
went she so fair and lovely, namelye, while the 
wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her 
chekes (of which she before had most misse) that 
her great shame wan her much praise among those 
that were more amorous of her body, then curious of 
her soule. And many good folke also, that hated 
her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet 
pittifd thai more her penance than rejoiced therin 



*>**• 



JANE 8H0RE. 



155 



I 



it ben thei considred that the protector procured it 
more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous af- 
feccion. 

" This woman was born in London, worshipfully 
Trended, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, 
saving somewhat to soone : her husbande an honest 
citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. 
But forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer 
wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she 
never longed. Which was happely the thing*, that 
the more easily made her eocline unto the king's ap- 
petite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect 
of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, pie- 
sure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to 
perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had 
abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honest 
man, and one that could his good, not presuming to 
touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al toge- 
ther. When the king died, the lord chamberlen 
[Hastings] toke her* : which in the kinges daies, 
albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet lie for- 
bare her, either for reverence, or for a certain frendly 
faithfulness, 
" Proper she was, and faire mothing in her body that 
ou wold have changed, but if you would have wished 
er somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her 
•i. her youtbe. Albeit some that ' now see her (for 
•t she liveth)' deme her never to have bene wel 
visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat 
like, as though men should gesse the bewty of one 
longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the 
charnel-house ; for now is she old, lene, withered, 
and dried up, nothing left but ryvllde skin, and hard 
bone. And yet being even such, whoso wel advise 
berr visage, might gesse and devise which partes 
how filled, wold make it a fair face. 

" Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in 
her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, 
and could both rede wel and write ; mery in com- 
pany, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor 
ml of bable ; sometime taunting without displeasure, 
and not without disport. The king would say, That 
he bad three concubines, which in three divers pro- 
perties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another 
the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, 
as one whom no man could get out of the churc 
lightly to any place, but it wer to his bed. The other 
two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles 
of their humilite content to be nameles, and to for- 
bere the praise of those properties ; but the meriest 
was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke 
special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, 
whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to 
belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, 
but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the 
king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and ap- 
pease his mind : where men were out of fiivour, she 
wold bring them in his grace : for many, that had 

* After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar- 

?nis of Dorset, son to Edward IV's qnevn. In Rytuer's 
'cedent is a proclamation of Richard's, dated at Leicester, 
October 23, 1483, wherein a reward of 1000 marks in money, 
or 100 a year in land is offered for taking " Thomas late 
Marquis of Dorset," who, " not having the fear of God, nor 
the salvation of his own soul, before his eyes, has damnably 
debauched and defiled many maids, widows, and wives, and 
• lived' in actual adultery with the wife of Shore/" Buck- 
ingham was at that time In rebellion, bat as Dorset was not 
with him, Richard could not accuse him of treason, and 
therefore made a handle of these pretended debaucheries 
(o R* him apprehended. Vide Rym. Foed. torn. xil. page 



highly offended, shee obtained pardon : of great for- 
feitures she gate men remission : and finally in many 
weighty sutes she stode many men in great stede, 
either tor none or very amal rewardes, and those ra- 
ther gay than rich : either for that she was content 
with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited 
to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to 
do with the king, or for that wanton women and 
welthy be not alway covetous. 

" I doubt not some sbal think this woman too 
sleight a thing to be written of, and set amonge the 
remembraunoes of great matters : which thei shal 
specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by 
that thei ' now see her.' But me semeth the chaunce 
so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how 
much she is ' now' in the more beggerly condicion, 
unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after rood 
substance, after as grete favour with the prince, 
after as grete sute and seeking to with al those, 
that in those days had busynes to spede, as 
many other men were- in their times, which be now 
famouse only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her 
doinges were not much lease, albeit thei be mucbe 
lease remembred because thei were not so evil. *For 
men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in 
marble ; and whoso doth us a good tourne, we write 
it in duste. Which is not worst proved by her ; for 
' at this daye' shee beggeth of many at this daye 
living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not 
bene?' See More's workes, folio, black letter, 1567, 
pp. 56, 57. 

Drayton has written a poetical epistle from this 
lady to her royal lover, and in his notes thereto he 
thus draws her portrait : " Her stature was meane, 
her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full, 
her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each 
part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her 
body fat, white and smooth, her countenance cheer- 
full and like to her condition* The picture which I 
have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her 
bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich 
mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and 
sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. 
What her father's name was, or where she was 
borne, is not certainly knowne : but Shore a young 
man of right goodly person, wealth and behaviour, 
abandoned her bed after the king had made her his 
concubine. Richard III. causing her to do open 
penance in Paul's church-yard, ' commanded that no 
man should relieve her,' which the tyrant did, not so 
much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his 
brother's life odious, he might coyer his horrible 
treasons the more cunningly." See England's He- 
roical Epistles, by Michael Drayton, Esq. London 
1637, 12mo. 

The history of Jane Shore receives new illustra- 
tion from the following letter of King Richard III. 
which is preserved in the Harl. MSS. Number 433 
Article 9378, but of which the copy transmitted to 
the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, 
&c. It is said to have been addressed to Russel 
bishop of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484. 

• These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to 
Shakespeare that proverbial reflection in Hen vUi. Art 4, 
sc. 11. 

" Men's evill manners live in brass*: their virtues 
We write in water." 

Shakespeare, in hia play of Rithard III, follows M«ire*» 
History of that reign, and therefore could not but see this 
ItaspaK* 



— i 



r 



154 



JANE SHORE. 



By the KING. 

" Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying 
onto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant 
and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded 
and abused with the late Wife of William Shore, now- 
living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made 
Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said, and 
intendeth to our full great marvel, to effect the same. 
WE, formauy causes, would be sorry that he should 
be so disposed; pray you thereto* e to send for him, 
and in that ye goodly may, exhci i, and stir him to 
the contrary : And if ye find him utterly set for to 
marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized, 
then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we 
be content the time of marriage be deferred to our 
coming next to London ; that upon sufficient Surety 
found of her good shearing, ye do so send for her 
Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, 
by Warrant of these, committing her to the rule, and 
guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direc- 
tion, in the mean season. • Given, &c. 

" RIC. Rex." 

It appears from two articles in the same MS. that 
King Richard had granted to the said Thomas Linom 
the office of King's Solicitor (Article 134,) and also 
the Manor of Colmeworth, com Bedf. to him his 
heirs male (Article 596). 

An original picture of Jane Shore almost naked is 
preserved in the Provost's Lodgings at Eton ; and 
another picture of her is in the Provost's Lodge at 
King's Colloge, Cambridge : to both which founda- 
tions she is supposed to have done friendly offices with 
Edward IV. A small quarto mexsotinto print was 
taken from the former of these by J. Faber. 

The following ballad is printed (with some cor- 
rections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection. Its full title is, " The woeful lamenta- 
tion of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in Ixradon, 
sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To 
the tune of ' Live with me/ &c." [See the first 
volume.] To every stanza is annexed the following 
burthen : 

Then maids and wives in time amend, 
For love and beauty will have end. 

If Rosamonde that was so faire, 
Had cause her sorrowes to declare, 
Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing 
That was beloved of a king. 

In maiden yeares my beautye bright 6 

Was loved dear of lord and knight ; 
But yet the love that they requir'd, 
It was not as my friends desir'd. 



My parents they, for thirst 5f gaine, 
A husband for me did obtaine ; 
And I, their pleasure to fulfille, 
Was. forc'd to wedd against my wille. 

To Matthew Shore I was a wife, 
Till lust brought mine to my life ; 
And then my life I lewdlye spent, 
Which makes my soul for to lament. 

In Lombard-street I once did dwelle, 
As London yet can witnesse welle j 
Where many gallants did beholde 
My beautye' in a shop of golde. 



10 



15 



SO 



I spred my plumes, as wantons doe, 
Some sweet and secret friende to wooe, 
Because chast love I did not finde 
Agreeing to my wanton minde. 

At last my name in court did ring 25 

Into the eares of Englandes king, 
Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd, 
But I made coye what he desir'd : 

Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare, 
Whose friendship I esteemed deare, SO 

Did save, It was a gallant thing 
To be beloved of a king. 

By her persuasions I was led, 

For to defile my marriage-bed. 

And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35 

Whom I had married yeares before* 

In heart and mind I did rejoyce. 

That I had made so sweet a choice ; 

And therefore did my state resigne, 

To be king Edward's concubine. 40 

From city then to court I went, 
To reape the pleasures of content ; 
There had the joyes that love could bring, 
And knew the secrets of a king. 

When I was thus advanc'd on highe 45 

Commanding Edward with mine eye. 
For Mrs. Blague 1 in short space ' 
Obtainde a livinge from his grace. 

No friende I had but in short time 

I made unto a promotion climbe ; 60 

But yet for all this costive pride, 

My husbande could not mee abide. 

His bed, though wronged by a king. 
His heart with deadlye griefe did sting ; 
From England then ne goes away 55 

To end his life beyond the sea. 

* 

He could not live to see his name 

Impaired by my wanton shame ; 

Although a prince of peerlesse might 

Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60 

Long time I lived in the courte, 
With lords and ladies of great sorte ; 
And when I smil'd all men were glnd, 
But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad. 

But yet a gentle minde I bore & 

To belplesse people, that were poore ; 

1 still redrest the orphans crye, 

And sav'd their lives condemnd to dye. 

I still had ruth on widowes tears, 

I succour'd babes of tender yeares ; 70 

And never look'd for other gaine 

But love and thankes for all my peine. 

At last my royall king king did dye, 
And then my dayes of woe grew nigbe ; 
When crook-hack Richard got the crowne, 75 
King Edwards friends were soon put downe. 



CORYDONS DOLEFUL KNELL. 



Uxr 



I then was punisht for my sin, 

That I so long bad lived in ; 

Yea, every one that was his friend, 

This tyrant brought to shamefuU end. 80 

Then for my lewd and wanton life, 
That made a strumpet of a wife, 
1 penance did in Lombard-street, 
In shamefuU manner in a sheet. 

Where many thousands did. me vie we, . 85 
Who late in court my credit knewe ; 
Which made the teares run down my face, 
To thinke upon my foul disgrace. 

Not thus content, they took from mee 
My goodes, my livings, and my fee, 90 

And charg'd that none should me relieve, 
Nor any succour to me give. 

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went, 

To whom my jewels I had sent, 

In hope therebye to ease my want, 95 

When riches faiTd, and love grew scant : 

But she denyed to me the same 

When in my need for them I came ; 

To recompence my former love, 

Out of her doores shee did me shove. 100 

So love did vanish with my state, 
Which now my soul repents too late ; 
Therefore example take by mee, 
For friendship parts in povertie. 

But yet one friend among the rest, 105 

Whom I before had seen distrest, 
And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die, 
Did give me food to succour me : 

For which, by lawe, it was decreed 
That he was nanged for that deed ; 1 10 

His death did grieve me so much more, 
llian had I dyed myself therefore. 



Then those to whom I had done good, 
Durst not afford mee any food ; 
Whereby I begged all the day, 1 15 

And still in streets by night I lay. 

My gowns beset with pearl and gold, 

Were turn'd to simple garments old ; 

My chains and gems and golden rings, 

To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120 

Thus was I scorn 'd of maid, and wife, 
For leading such a wicked life ; 
Both sucking babes and children small, 
Did make their pastime at my fall. 

1 could not g&X one bit of bread, 1 2 

Whereby my hunger might be fed : 
Nor drink, but such as channels yield, 
Or stinking ditches in the field. 

Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe 

I yielded up my vital strength 13 

Within a ditch of loathsome scent, 

Where carrion dogs did much frequent : 

The which now since my dying daye, 
Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye* • 
Which is a witness of my sinne, 15 

For being concubine to a king. 

You wanton wives, that full to lust, 

Be you assur'd that God is just ; 

Whoredom e shall not escape his hand, 

Nor pride unpunish'd in this land. 110 

If God to me such shame did bring. 
That yielded only to a king, 
How bhall they scape that daily run 
To practise mh with every one 1 

You husbands, match not but for love, 1 15 

Lest some disliking after prove ; 

Women, be wara'd when you are wives, 

What plagues ore due to sinful lives : 
Then, maids and wives, in time amend. 
For love and beauty will have end. 



XXVII. 
CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL. 



This little simple elegy is given, with some cor- 
rections, from two copies, one of which is in " The 
Golden Garland of Princely Delights." 

The burthen of the song, " Ding Dong, &c." is 
at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and, 
therefore, may excite only ludicrous ideas in a mo- 
dern reader ; but, in the time of our poet, it usually 
accompanied the most solemn and mournful strains. 
Of this kind is that fine aerial dirge in Sbakspear's 
Tempest : 

" Full fadom five thy father lies, 

Of his bones are corroll made ; 
Those are pearles that were his e/ts ; 

Nothing of bim that doth fade, 



But doth suffer a sea-change 

Into something rich and strange : 

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, 
Harke now I heare them, Dingdong bell. 

•• Burthen, Ding dong." 

I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude 
the above air in a manner the most solemn and ex- 
pressive of melancholy. 

My Phillida, adieu love ! 

For evermore farewel ! 
Ay me ! I've lost my true love, 

And thus I ring her knell, 

* Bat it had this name long befote ; being m> called /rum 
its being a common Sewer (vulgarly Snore) or drain. See 
Stow. 



156 



' THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



Ding done, ding done, ding dong, 5 

My PhMida is dead ! 
Ill stick a branch of willow 

At my fair Phillis' head. 

For my fair Phillida, 

Our bridal bed was made : 10 

But 'stead of silkes so gay,. 

She in her shroud is laid. 
Ding, &c 

Her corpse shall be attended, 

^ By maides in fair array, 
Till the obsequies are ended, 15 

And she is wrapt in clay. 
Ding, &c 

Her herse it shall be carried 

By youths that do excell ; 
And when that she is buried, 

I thus will ring her knell, fO 

Ding, &c 

• 

A garland shall be framed 

By art and natures skill, 
Of sundry-cotour'd flowers, 

In token of good-will*. 
Ding, &c. 



And sundry-colourM ribbanda f5 

On it I will bestow? 
But chiefly black and yellowe* : 

With her to grave snail go. 
Ding, &c. 

Ill decke her tombe with flowers, 

The rarest ever seen, 50 

And with my tears, as showers, 

111 keepe them fresh and green. 
Ding, &c 

Instead of fairest colours. 

Set forth with curious art f. 
Her image shall be painted 35 

On my distressed heart. 
Ding, &c 

And thereon shall be graven 

Her epitaph so faire, 
" Here lies the loveliest maiden, 

That e'er gave shepbeard care." 40 

Ding, &c 

In sable will I mourae ; 

Blacke shall be all my weede : 
Ay me! I am forlorne, 
Now PhilUda is dead ! 
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. 45 

My PhilUda is dead ! 
Ill stick a branch of willow 
At my fair Phillis' head. 



THB END OP TBS SECOND BOOK. 



SERIES THE SECOND. 



BOOK III. 



I. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



I shall begin this Third Book with an old allegoric 
satire : A manner of moralizing, which, if it was not 
first introduced by the author of " Pierce Plowman's 
Visions," was at least chiefly brought into repute 
by that ancient satirist. It is not so generally 
known that the kind of verse used in this ballad hath 
any affinity with the peculiar metre of that writer, 
for which reason I shall throw together some cursory 
remarks on that very singular species of versification, 
the nature of which has been so Uttle understood. 

• It it a cutom in many part* of England, to carry a 
flowery garland before the corpse of a *oman who dies 
anmarried. 



ON THE ALLITERATIVE UETRB, WITHOUT RHTHS, IV 
PIERCE PLOWMAN'S VISIONS. 

We learn from Wormius*, that the ancient Islan 
die poets used a great variety of measures : he men- 
tions 136 different kinds, without including rhyme, 
or a correspondence of final syllables : yet this was 

• See above, preface to No. XI, Book II. 

t This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster, anciently 
erected upon tombs and monuments. 

• Literature Ranica. Hafnhs 1636, 4to.— 1601, foL The 
Islandlc language is of the same origin aa onr Anglo-Saxon, 
being both dialects of the ancient Gothic or Teutonic. Vid. 
Hickesii Praefat. in Grammat. Anglo-Saxon, & Moeso-Goth, 
4to, 1640. 



THE ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



15* 



occasionally used, as appears from the Ode of Egil, 
which Wormius hath inserted in his hook. 

He hath analysed the structure of one of these 
kinds of verse, the harmony of which neither de- 
pended on the quantity of the syllables, like that of 
the ancient Greeks and Romans ; nor on the rhymes 
at the end, as in modern poetry ; but consisted alto- 
gether in alliteration, or a certain artful repetition of 
the sounds in the middle of the verses. This was 
adjusted according to certain rules of their prosody, 
one of which was, that every distich should contain 
at least three words beginning with the same letter 
or sound. Two of these corresponding sounds 
might be placed either in the first or second line of 
the distich, and one in the other : but all three were 
not regularly to be crowded into one line. This 
will be the beat understood by the following exam- 
ples*. 

" 3feire og Afinne " Gab Ginunga 

Jkfogu heimdaller." Enn Gras huerge." 

There were many other little niceties observed by 
the Islandic poets, who, as they retained their ori- 
ginal language and peculiarities longer than the other 
nations of Gothic race had time to cultivate their 
native poetry more, and to carry it to a higher pitch 
of refinement, than any of the rest. 

Their brethren the Anglo-Saxon poets occasionally 
used the same kind of alliteration, and it is common 
to meet in their writings with similar examples of 
the foregoing rules. Take an instance or two in 
modern characters!; 

" Skeop tha and Sfcyrede " Ham and Heahsetl 
Sfcyppend ure." if eofena rikea." 

I know not, however, that there is any where extant 
an entire Saxon poem all in this measure. But dis- 
tichs of this sort perpetually occur in all their poems 
of any length. 

Now, if we examine the versification of " Pierce 
Plowman's Visions," we shall find it constructed ex- 
actly by these rules ; and therefore each line, as 
frinted, is in reality a distich of two verses, and will, 
believe, be found distingushed as such, by some 
mark or other in all the ancient MSS. vis. 

° In a Somer Season, | when ' hotj' was tbeSunne, 
1 Shape me into Snroubs, | as I a Sftepe were ; 
In JFfabite as an tfarmet | unJFfoly of werkes, 
Went rVyde in thys world | Wonders to heare," &c. 

So that the author of this poem will not be found 
to have invented any new mode of versification, as 
some have supposed, but only to have retained that 
of the old Saxon and Gothic poets ; which was pro- 
bably never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used 
at different intervals : though the ravages of time 
will not suffer us now to produce a regular series of 
poems entirely written in it. 

There are some readers, whom it may gratify to 
mention, that these " Visions of Pierce fi. e. Peter] 
the Plowman/ 1 are attributed to Robert Langland, a 
secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury in 
Shropshire, and fellow of Oriel college in Oxford, 
who flourished in the reigns of Edward III. and 
Richard II. and published his poem a few years 



i_ 



• VM. Hickes Aatiq. Llterator. Septentrional. Tom. I, p. 
117. 

t Ibid. 

% So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either 
"wift," at in MS. or " set," as in FCC. 



after 1350. It consits of xx Passu* or Breaks*, ex- 
hibiting a series of visions, which be preteuds hap- 
pened to him on Malvern hills in Worcestershire. 
The author excels in strong allegoric painting, and 
has with great humour, spirit, and fancy, censured 
most of the vices incident to the several professions 
of life ; but he particularly inveighs against the cor- 
ruptions of the clergy, and the absurdities of super- 
stition. Of this work I have now before me four 
different editions in black-letter quarto. Three of 
them are printed in 1550 by Robert Crowley, 
dwelling in Elye rentes in Holburne. It is re- 
markable that two of these are mentioned in the 
title-page as both of the second impression, though 
they contain evident variations in every pagef. The 
other is said to be newlye imprynted after the 

authors olde copy by Owen Rogen, Feb* 

21, 1561. 

As Langland was not the first, so neither was he 
the last that used this alliterative species of versi- 
fication. To Rogers's edition of the Visions is 
subjoined a poem, which was probably writ in imi- 
tation of them, intitled "Pierce the Ploughman's 
Crede." It begins thus : 

" Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning spede 
For the Faders Frendshipe, that jrourmed heaven, 
And through the Special Spirit, that Sprong of hem 

tweyne. 
And al in one godhed endles dwelleth." 

The author feigns himself ignorant of bis Creed, to 
be instructed in which he applies to the four reli- 
gious orders, viz. the gray friers of St Francis, the 
black friers of St. Dominic, the Carmelites or white 
friers, and the Augustine*. This affords him occa- 
sion to describe m very lively colours the aloth, 
ignorance, and immorality of those reverend drones* 
At length he meets with Pierce a poor Ploughman, 
who resolves his doubts, and instructs him in the 
principles of true religion. The author was evidently 
a follower of Wicchff, whom he mentions (with 
honour) as no longer livingf. Now that reformer 
died in 1384. How long after his death this poem 
was written, does not appear. 

In the Cotton library is a volume of ancient 
English poems$, two of which are written in this 
alliterative metre, and have the division of the lines 
into distichs distinctly marked by a point, as is 
usual in old poetical MSS. That which stands first 
of the two (though perhaps the latest written) is 
intitled " The sege of 1 erlam," [i. e. Jerusalem], 
being an old fabulous legend composed by some 
monk, and stuffed with marvellous figments con- 
cerning the destruction of the holy city and temple. 
It begins thus : 

"In Tyberius Tyme . the Trewe emperour 

Syr Sesar hymself • beSted in Rome 

Whyll Pylat was Provoste . under that Prynceryche 



* The poem properly contains xxi parts ; the word paeeue, 
adopted by the aothor, seems only to denote the break or 
division between two parts, though by the ignorance of the 
printer applied to the parts themselves. See Series III. pre- 
face to ballad III. where Poem* seems to signify Pauee. 

t That which seems the flist of the two, is thus distln- 

Siishcd in the title-page, nowe the eeconde tyme imprinted by 
oberte Crotolye; the other tbos, nowe the eeconde time im 
printed by Robert Crowley, tn the former the folios are thus 
erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41,63, 43, 42, 45, dec Th« 
booksellers of those days did not ostentatiously affect to mul- 
tiply editions. 
X Siguaturc . ${{. i Caligula 4. *j. fol. 109, 123. 



158 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



And Jewea Justice also • of Judeas londe 
Jferode under empere . as Herytage wolde 
tfyng," &c. 

The other is intitled •* Chevalere ABsigne" [or De 
Cigne], that is, " The Knight of the Swan/ being 
an ancient Romance, beginning thus : 

" Ail-TPeldvnge God . Whene it is his WyWe 
We\e he Jvereth his Werke . With his owene honde 
For ofte /farmes were Hente . that ifelpe we ne myzte 
Nere the Hyznes of if ym . that lengeth in if evene 
For this," &c. 

Among Mr. Garrick's collection of old plays* is a 
prose narrative of the adventures of this same Knight 
of the Swan, " newly translated out of Frenshe into 
Englyahe, at thinstigacion of the puyssant and illus- 
tryousprynce, lorde Edward duke of Buckynghame." 
This lord it seems had a peculiar interest in the 
book, for in the preface the translator tells us, that 
this " highe dygne and illustryous prynce my lorde 
Edwarde by the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, 
erle of Hereforde, Stafforde, and Northampton, de- 
syrynge ootydyally to encrease and augment the 
name and fame of such as were relucent in vertuous 
feates and triumphannt acted of cbyvalry, and to en- 
courage and styre every lusty ana gentell herte by 
the exemplyficacyon of the same, havyng a goodli 
booke of the highe and miraculous bistori of a famous 
and puyssattnt kynge, named Oryant sometime 
reynynge in the parties of beyonde the sea, havynge 
to his wife a noble lady ; of whome she conceyved 
sixe sonnes and a daughter, and chylded of them at 
one only time ; at whose byrthe echone of them had 
a chayne of sylver at their necked, the which were 
all tourned by the provydence of cod into whyte 
swannes, save one, of the whicbe this present hys- 
tory is compyld, named Helyas, the knight of the 
swanne, 'of whome linially isdyscended my sayde 
lorde.' The whiche ententifly to have the sayde 
hy story more amply and unyversally knowen in thys 
hys natif countrie, as it is in other, hath of hys hie 
bountie by some of his faithful and trusti servauntes 
cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de Wordef to put the 

said vertuous hystori in prynte at whose insti- 

gacion and stiring I f Roberte Copland) have me 
applied, moiening the nelpe of god, to reduce and 
translate it into our maternal and vulgare english 
tonge after the capacite and rudenesse of my weke 

entendement." A curious picture of the times! 

While in Italy literature and the fine arts were ready 
to burst forth with classical splendour under Leo X. 
the first peer of this realm was proud to derive his 
pedigree from a fabulous *' Knight of the Swanf." 

To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman : In 
the folio MS. so often quoted in this work, are 
two poems written in that species of versification. 
One of these is an ancient allegorical poem, intitled 
" Death and Life," (in 2 fitts or parts, containing 
458 distichs) which, for aught that appears, may 
have been written as early, if not before, the time of 
Langland. The first forty lines are broke as they 
should be into distichs, a distinction that is neg- 



* K. voL X. 



t \V. de Worde't edit. U In 131?. See Ames, p. 9t. Mr. 
G's copy is " 1 1mprinted at London by me H'iltiam Cop- 

t He is Mid In the story book to be the grandfather of 
Godfrey of B.mkgne, through whom I suppose the dnke 
•iMde out his relation to him. This duke was beheaded 
May 17. lff'21, 13 Henry Vlll. 



lected in the remaining part of the transcript, in 
order I suppose to save room. It begins, 

" Christ Christen king 

that on the Crosse tholed ; 
Hadd Paines and Passyons 

to defend our soules ; 
Give us Grace on the Ground 

the Greatlye to serve, 
For that Royal Red blood 

that Rann from thy side." 

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein the 
poet sees a contest for superiority between " our 
lady Dame Life," and tie "ugly fiend Dame 
Death ;" who with their several attributes and 
concomitants are personified in a fine vein of alle- 
goric painting. Part of the description of Dame 
Life is, 

" Shee was Brighter of her Blee, 

then was the Bright sonn : 
Her Rudd Redder then the Hose, 

that on the Rise hangeth : 
Meekely smiling with her Mouth, 

And Merry in her lookes ; 
Ever Laughing for Love, 

as shee Like would. 
And as shee came by the Bankes, 

the Boughes eche one 
They Lowted to that Ladye, 

and Layd forth their branches j 
Blossomes and Burgens 

Breathed full sweete ; 
.Flowers Flourished in the Frith, 

where shee Forth stepped ; 
And the Grasse, that was Gray, 

Greened belive." 

Death is afterwards sketched out with a no less bold 
and original pencil. 

The other poem is that, which is quoted in the 
96th page of this work, and which was probably 
the last that was ever written in this kind of metre 
in its original simplicity unaccompanied with rhyme. 
It should have been observed above in page 96, that 
in this poem the lines are throughout divided into 
distichs, thus : 

Grant Gracious God, 

Grant me this time, &c 

It is intitled " Scottish Feilde" (in 2 Fitts, 420 dis- 
tichs.) containing a very circumstantial narrative of 
the battle of Flodden, fought Sept 9, 1513 : at 
which the author seems to have been present, from 
his speaking in the first person plural : . 

" Then we Tild downe ora Tents , 
that Told were a thousand." 

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this account 
of himself: 

" He was a Gentleman by Jesu, 

that this Gest* made : 
Which Say but as he Sayd f 

for Sooth and noe other. 
At Bagily that Bearne 

his Biding place had ; 

• Jest. MS. 

t Probably corrupted for— * Sap* but as he Saw/ 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRK 



1A9 



And his ancestors of old time 

have yearded* theire longe, 
Before William Conquerour 

this Cuntrj did inhabitt. 
t Jesus Bring ' them f' to Blisse, 

that Brought us forth of bale, 
That hath H earkned me if eare 

or Heard my tale." 

The village of Bagily or Baguleigh is in Cheshire, 
and had belonged to the ancient family of Legh for 
two centuries before the battle of Flodden. Indeed 
that the author was of that country appears* from 
other passages in the Body of the poem, particularly 
from the pains he takes to wipe off a stain from the 
Cheshiremen, who it seems ran away in that battle, 
and from his encomiums on the Stanleys Earls of 
Derby, who usually headed that county. He 
laments the death of James 8tanley bishop of Ely, 
as what had recently happened when this poem was 
written ; which serves to ascertain its date, for that 
prelate died March 24, 1514-5. 

Thus have we traced the Alliterative Measure so 
low as the sixteenth century. It is remarkable that 
all such poets as used this kind of metre, retained 
along with it many peculiar Saxon idioms, par- 
ticularly such as were appropriated to poetry : this 
deserves the attention or those who are desirous to 
recover the laws of the ancient Saxon Poesy, usually 
given up as inexplicable : I am of opinion that they 
will find what they seek in the metre of Pierce 
Plowman $. 

About the beginning of the sixteenth century this 
kind of versification began to change its form : the 
author of "Scottish Field," we see, concludes his 
poem with a couplet in rhyme : this was an innova- 
tion that did but prepare the way for the general 
admission of that more modish ornament: till at 
length the old uncouth verse of the ancient writers 
would no longer go down without it Yet when 
Rhyme began to be superadded, all the niceties of 
Alliteration were at first retained along with it; 
and the song of " Little John Nobody" exhibits this 
union very clearly. By degrees the correspondence 
of final sounds engrossing the whole attention of the 
poet, and fully satisfying the reader, the internal 
embellishment of Alliteration was no longer studied, 
and thus was this kind of metre at length swallowed 
up and lost in our common Burlesque Alexandrine, 
or Anapestic. verse §, now never used but in ballads 



* Yearded, I. e. bnrled, earthed, earded. It it common 
to pronounce " Earth," in some parts of England " Y earth," 
particularly in the North. — Pi tacottie, speaking of James III. 
slain at Bannockboura, says, '* Nae man wot whar they 
yearded him." 

t ' ns,' MS. In the second line above, the MS. has 
' bidding. 1 ' 

X And in that of Robert of Gloucester. See the next note. 

$ Consisting of four Anapests ( w « -) in which the ac- 
cent rests upon every third syllable. This kind of verse, 
which I also call the Burlesque Alexandrine to distinguish 
it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and fourteen 
syllables, the parents of our lyric measure : See examples, 
pp. 151, 152, &a) was early applied by Robert of Gloucester 
to serious subjects. That writer's metre, like this of Lang- 
land's, is formed on the Saxon models (each verse of his 
containing a Saxon distich ;) only instead of the internal alli- 
teration* adopted by Langland, be rather chose final rhymes, 
as the French poets have done since. Take a specimen. 

" The Saxons tho in their power, tho thii were so rive. 
Seve kingdoms made in Engelonde, and sutlie but vive : 
The king of Northomberlond, and of Eastangle also, 
Of Kent, and of Westsex, and of the March, therto." 

Robert of fteosjtttter wrote in the western dialect, and his 



and pieces of light humour, as in the following song 
of " Conscience," and in that well-known doggrel, 

" A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall." 

But although this kind of measure hath with us 
been thus degraded, it still retains among the French 
its ancient dignity; their grand heroic verse of 
twelve syllables * is the same genuine offspring of 
tho old alliterative metre of the ancient Gothic and 
Francio poets, stript like our Anapestic of its alli- 
teration, and ornamented with rhyme. But with 
this difference, that whereas this land of verse hath 
been applied by us only to light and trivial subjects, 
to which by its quick and lively measure it seemed 
best adapted, our poets have let it remain in a more 
lax unconfined state f, as a greater degree of 
severity and strictness would have been inconsistent 
with the light and airy subjects to which they have 
applied it On the other hand, the French having 
retained this verse as the vehicle of their epic and 
tragic flights, in order to give it a stateliness and 
dignity were obliged to confine it to more exact laws 
of Scansion ; they have therefore limited it to the 
number of twelve syllables ; and by making the 
Caesura or Pause as full and distinct as possible, and 
by other severe restrictions, have given it all the 
solemnity of which it was capable. The harmony 
of both however depends so much on the same flow 
of cadence and disposal of the pause, that they appear 
plainly to be of the same original ; and every French 
heroic verse evidently consists of the ancient Distich 
of their Francic ancestors : which, by the way, will 
account to us why this verse of the French so 
naturally resolves itself into two complete herniations. 
And indeed by making the ensure or pause always 
to rest on the last syllable of a word, and by making 
a kind of pause in the sense, the French poets do in 
effect reduce their hemistichs to two distinct and 
independent verses: and some of their old poets 
have gone so far as to make the two hemistichs 
rhyme to each other f. 

After all, the old alliterative and anapestic metre 
of the English poets being chiefly used in a barbarous 



language differs exceedingly from that of other contempn. 
rary writers, who resided in the metropolis, or in the mid* 
land counties. Had the heptarchy continued, our English 
language would probably have been as much distinguished 
for its different dialects as the Greek ; or at least as that of 
the seveial independent states of Italy. 

• Or of thirteen syllables, in what they ««U a feminine 
Ve r se. It is remarkable that the French alone have retained 
this old Gothic metre for their seriou* poems ; while the 
English, Spaniards, &c. have adopted the Italic verse of 
ten syllables, although the Spaniards, as well as wc,-ar cienlly 
used a short-lined metre. I believe the inccess witl which 
Petrarch, and perhaps one or two others, first used the 
heroic verse of ten syllables in Italian Poesy, recommended 
it to the Spanish writers ; as it al>o did to our Chaucer, who 
first attempted it in English ; and to his successors Lord 
Surrey. Sir Thomas Wyat. e\c. ; who afterwards improved 
it and brought it to perfection. To Lcrd Surrey we also 
owe the first introduction of blank verse in bis versions of 
the second and fourth books of the JRneM, 1557, 4to. 

t Thus oar poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, 
eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it 
consists of four anapt-sts (*» r -) or twelve syllables, yet 
they frequently rctn^ch a syllable froln the first or third 
anapest ; and sometimes from both; as in these instances 
from Pr)or and from the following song of Conscience : 

Who" Ms etr bc£n Mt Parts mfist ni-eds knttw the* Grfve, 

Th8 fatal iStreatftf th' hnfortonSle brave. 

He* stipl tS htm straight, and did Mm require. 

X See instances in L'HUt. de la Poede Frawjoiae par 
Massieu, Ac. In the same book are also specimens of alM 
terative French verses. 



i — 



left 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE 



age, and in a rude unpolished language, abounds with 
verses defective in length, proportion, and harmony ; 
and therefore cannot enter into a comparison with Use 
correct versification of the best modern French 
writers ; but making allowances for these defects, 
that sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly 
resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, that I 
believe no peculiarities of their versification can be 
produced, which cannot be exactly matched in the 
alliterative metre. I shall give by way of example 
a few lines from the modern French poets accom- 
modated with parallels from the ancient poem of 
"Life and Death;" in these I shall denote the 
Cffisura or Pause by a nerpendicular line and the 
Cadence by the marks of tne Latin quantity. 

Li Occh/kt to&jobn | ' fin in/Snt di Vdvdac* , 
All skill dry* with th* dinti | thKt I deal with my binds. 

L'hdmmt pr*d&* vtot trbp — PWisUm U afitt, 
YondCr damsel \% death | thKt dreufth her to unite. 

LlntrinUi vlfit imeus j it U/antbme^tU*. 
When AH dolefully saw | how sh* ding downe Mr fblke. 

MSmt afis yeusdi Vmjittte I tnlnjMelst MrriWet. 
Thfin she cast ftp 1 crye | tt the high king of heaven. 

D& mtnsdngi to&joftn f 11 vrai demeuri maitri, 
Thou unit bittSrlyc' bye | 6r elre In* book* falleth. 

Po&r p&rbitr* hdnnite homms \ in fin mot, UfatU Vih*C 
Thai I fared thronghe a frythh I wMit th« flowtrs were 

I many*. 

To conclude ; the metre of Pierce Plowman*s 
Visions has no kind of affinity with what is commonly 
called Blank Verse ; yet has it a sort of harmony of 
its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration, 
as from the artful disposal of its cadence, and the 
contrivance of its pause ; so that when the ear is a 
little accustomed to it, it is by no means unpleasing ; 
but claims all the merit of the French heroic numbers, 
only far less polished ; being sweetened, instead of 
their final rhymes, with the internal recurrence of 
similar sounds, 

This Essay will receive illustration from another 
specimen in Warton's " History of English Poetry," 
Vol, I, p. 309, being the fragment of a MS poem on 
the subject of "Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian 
Library, which he supposes to be the same with 
Number 44, in the AshmoL MSS. containing twenty- 
seven pasus, and beginning thus : 

Whener folk fastid [feasted, qtu] and fed, 
fayne wolde thai her [i. e. hear] 
Some rarand thing, &c. 

It is well observed by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on Chaucer's 
sneer at this old alliterative metre : ( VoL iii, p. 305,) 
viz. 

I am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man, 



I cannot geste, rem, ram, raf, by my letter. 

That the fondness for this species of versification, 
&c was retained longest in the northern provinces : 
and that the author of " Pierce Plowman s Visions" 
is in the best M8S. called " William," without any 
surname. (See vol* iv. p. 74b) 

▲DICTIONS TO TBS SSSAY ON TBI ALLITSRATZVB 



8ince the foregoing Essay was first printed, the 
Editor hath met with some additional examples of 
the old alliterative metre. 

The first is in MS.* which begins thus : 

• Catalina, A. S t Boilean Sat J BolL Sat 11. 
i In a small 4to MS. containing 88 leave* in private 
hands. 



Crist Crowned £yng, that on Cros didest* , 

And art Comfort of all Care, thowf, kind go out of 

Cours 
With thi Halwes in Heven Heried mote thu be, 
And thy Worshipful VTerkes Worshiped evre, * 
That suche Sonary 61enes Shewest unto man, 
In Dremyng, in Drecchyngf, and in Derke swevenes 

The author from this proemium takes occasion to 
give an account of a dream that happened to him- 
self; which he introduces with the following cir- 
cumstances : 

Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Ofte doon, 
WithFrendes, andFelawes, JVendemen, and other ; 
And Caught me in a Company on Corpus Christi 

even, 
Six, other$ Seven myle, out of Suthsmpton, 
To take Melodye, and Mirthes,lamong my Makes ; 
With JRedyng of Romaunces, and JRevelyng among, 
- The Dym of the Derknesse Drewe me into the west ; 
And be Gon for to spryng in the Grey day. 
Than Lift up my Lyddes, and Loked in the sky, 
And Ifnewe by the Jfonde Cours, hit clered in the 

est: 
Blyve y Busked me down, and to Bed went. 
For to Comforte my Jfynde, and Cacche a slepe* 

He then describes his dream : 

Methought that y Hoved on High on an Hill, 
And loked Doun on a Dale Depest of othre ; 
Ther y Sawe in my 6'ighte a Selcouthejpeple ; 
The Multitude was so Moche, it Mighte not be 
nombred. [axe 

Methoughte v herd a Crowned JTvng, of his Comunes 
A Soleyne || Subsidie, to Susteyne his werres. 

• • • • • [wordes, 

With that a Clerk Aneled adowne and Carped these 

.Liege Lord; y if it you lake to Listen a while, 
<Som Sawes of Salomon y shall you ahewe sone* 

The writer then gives a solemn lecture to kings 
on the art of governing. From the demand of sub- 
sidies " to susteyne his werres," I am inclined to 
believe this poem composed in the reign of King 
Henry V. as the MS. appears from a subseouent 
entry to have been written before the 9th of Henry 
VI. The whole poem contains but 146 lines. 

The alliterative metre was no less popular among 
the old Scottish poets, than with their brethren on 
this side the Tweed. In Maitland's Collection of 
ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian library, 
is a very long poem in this species of versification, 
thus inscribed : 

Hub begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit Wemen, 
and the Wedo, compylithe Maister WilliamDunbarf^. 

" Upon the Midsummer ewen Mirriest of nichtis 
I Muvit forth alane quhen as Midnight was past 
Besyd ane Gudlie Grene Garth**, full of Gay flouris 
Hegeit ft of ane Huge Hicbt with Hawthorne treeis 
Quairon ane Bird on ane Bransehe so Birst out hir 
notis [hard, etc" 

That nevir ane Bly thfuller Bird was on the Benche U 



* Didst dye. ♦ thoagh. } being overpowered. 

i i. e. either, or. 

H Solemn. IT Since the above was written, this poem 
hath been printed in " Ancient Scottish Poems, ice. from 
the MS. collections of Sir R. Maitland, of Lethfngton* 
knight of London, 1780," 3 vols, l'imo. The two first line, 
are here corrected by that edition. 

*• Garden. f Hedged. £ Bongh. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



16V 



The author pretends to 'over- hear three gossips 
sitting in an arbour, and revealing all their secret 
methods of alluring and gorerning the other sex ; 
it is a severe and humorous satire on had women, 
tnd nothing inferior to " Chaucer's Prologue to his 
Wife of Bath's Tale." As Dunbar lived till about 
the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem was 
probably composed after " Scottish Field" (described 
above in p. 158,) which is the latest specimen I 
have met with written in England. This poem con- 
tains about five hundred lines. 

But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in 
Scotland, appears more particularly from those 
popular vulgar prophecies, which are still printed 
for the use of the lower people in Scotland, under 
the names of " Thomas the Rymer," " Marvellous 
Merling," &c. This collection seems to have been 
put together after the accession of James I. to the 
crown of England, and most of the pieces in it are 
in the metre of " Pierce Plowman's Visions." The 
first of them begins thus : 

'• Merling sayes in his book, who will Read Right, 
Although his Sayings be uncouth, they Shall be true 
In the seventh chapter, read Whoso Trill, [found, 
One thousand and more after Christ's birth, flic." 

And the " Prophesie of Beid : " 

" Betwixt the chief of Summer and the Sad winter ; 
Before the /feat of summer Happen shall a war 
That Europ's lands Earnestly shall be wrought 
And Earnest Envy shall last but a while, etc." 

So again the " Prophesie of Berlington :" 

" When the Ruby is Raised, JRest is there none, 
But much Rancour shall Rise in River and plain, 
Much Sorrow is Seen through a Suth-hound 
That bearesH ornes in his Head like a wyld Hart, &c" 

In like metre is the " Prophesie of Waldhave :" 

•' Upon Lowdon Law alone as I Lay, 
Looking to the Lennox, as me Z.ief thought, 
The first Morning of May, Medicine to seek 
For Malice and Melody that Moved me sore, &c" 

And lastly, that intitled " The Prophesie of Gildas: 

" When holy kirk is Wracked and Will has no Wit 
And Pastors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without Pity 
When Idolatry Is In ens and us 
And spiritual pastours are vexed away, &o." 

It will be observed in the foregoing specimens, 
that the alliteration ia extremely neglected, except 
in the third and fourth instances ; although all the 
rest are written in imitation of the cadence used in 
this kind of metre. It may perhaps appear from an 
attentive perusal, that the poems ascribed to Bur- 
lington and Waldhave are more ancient than the 
others : indeed the first and fifth appear evidently to 
have been new modelled, if not intirely composed 
about the beginning of the last century, and are pro- 
bably the latest attempts ever made in this species of 
Terse. 

In this and the foregoing Essay are mentioned 
all the specimens I have met with of the Alliterative 
Metre without rhyme : but instances occur some- 
times in old manuscripts, of poems written both 
with final rhymes in the internal cadence and alliter- 
ations of the Metre of Pierce Plowman. 



I 

j 

The following song, intitled, " The Complaint of 
Conscience," is printed from the Editor's folio manu- 
script : some corruptions in the old copy are here 
corrected j but with notice to the reader wherever it 
was judged necessary, by inclosing the corrections 
between inverted ' commas.' 

As I walked of late by ' an' wood side, 

To God for to meditate was my entent ; 

Where under a hawthorne I suddenlye spyed 

A silly poore creature ragged and rent, 

With bloody teares his race was besprent, 5 

His fleshe and his color consumed away, 
And his garments they were all mire, mucke, and 
clay. 

This made me muse, and much * to' desire 
To know what kind of man hee shold bee ; 
I stept to him straight, and did him require 10 

His name and his secretts to shew unto mee. 
His head he cast up, and wooful was hee, 
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my care, 
And makes me scorned, and left here so bare. 

Then straightway he turned him, and prayd ' me 9 sit 

downe, 
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole greefe ; 16 
My name is called " Conscience :" — whereatt he did 

frowno, 
He pined to repeat it, and grinded his teethe, 
' Though now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all releef,' 
' Yet' while I was young, and tender of yeeres, 20 
I was entertained with kinges, and with peeres. 

There was none in the court that lived in sncfi fame, 

For with the kings councell ' I' sate in commission ; 

Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my name ; 

And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition : 25 

I was ever holden in honest condition, 

For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall, 
When sentence was given, for me they wold calL 

No incomes at all the landlords wold take, 

But one pore peny, that was their fine ; 

And that they acknowledged to be for my sake. 

The poore wold doe nothing without councell mine : 

I ruled the world with the right line : 

For nothing was passed betweene foe and friend, 
But Conscience was called to bee at ' the 9 end. 55 

Noe bargainee, nor merchandise merchants wold make 
But I was called a wittenesse therto : 
No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take, 
But I wold controule them, if that they did soe : 
' And' that makes me live now in great woe, 40 

For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple. 

That is now entertained with all kind of people. 

He brought with him three, whose names ' thus they 

cair 
That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside : 
They never prevail'd, till they had wrought my 
downe-fall ; 45 

Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried. 
And ' now ever since' abroad have I tryed 
To have had entertainment with some one or other , 
But I am rejected, and scorned of my brother. 



Ver 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, MS. V. 10, not In MS. 
V. 33, he tate, MS. V. 35, an end, MS V. 43, they be 
these, MS. V. 46, was derided, MS. 



I *.^Ba**M 



161 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



Then went I to the court the gallatns to winn, 50 
But the porter kept me oat of the gate : 
To Bartlemew Spittle to pray for my sinne, 
They hade me goe pecke, it was fitt for my state ; 
Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a 
mate. [queene, 

Good Lord, long preserre my king, prince, and 
With whom evermore I esteemed have been 56 

Then went I to London, where once I did ' dwell* : 
But they bade away with me, when they knew my 
For he will undoe us to bye and to sell ! [name ; 
They bade me goe packe me, and bye me for shame : 
They lought at my raggs, and there had good game ; 
This is old threed-bare Conscience, tkat dwelt 
with saint Peter 63 

But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney- 
sweeper. 

Not one wold receive me, the Lord ' he' doth know ; 

I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 65 

On an awle and some patches 1 did it bestow ; 

' For 1 1 thought better cobble shooes than doe worse. 

Straight then all the coolers began for to curse, 
And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and forlorne, 
And whipp me out of towne to ' seeke' where I 
was borne 70 

Then did I remember, and call to my minde, 
The Court of Conscience where once I did sit : 
Not doubting but there I some favor shold find, 
For my name aud the place agreed soe fit, ; 
But there of my purpose 1 fayled a whit, 75 

For * thoughe' the judge us' d my name in everye 

' commission/ 
The lawyers with their quillets wold get * my' 
dismission. 

Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me ; 

Good lord ! how the lawyers began to assemble, . 

And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee ! 80 

The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 

I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble ; 
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare, 
But swore me on a booke I must never come there. 

Next the merchants said, Counterfeite, get thee 
away, 85 

Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 
We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea, 
And sett thee on shore in the New-found land ; 
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand, 

V. 67, wodb«, M8. V. 70, lee, 



Ver. 53, pack* me, MS. V. 67, wodbc 
f. 76, condkion, MS. V. 77, get a, MS. 



And we were right glad when thou didst refuse 
us; 90 

For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst 
accuse us. 

Then had I noe way, but for to goe on 
To gentlemen* houses of an ancyent name ; 
Declaring my greeffes, and there I made moane, 
* Telling how their forefathers held me in fame : 95 
And at letting their fames ' how always I came.' 
They sayd, Fye upon thee ! we may thee curse : 
' Theire leases continue, and we fare the worse. 

And then I was forced a begging to {roe 
To husbandmens houses, who grooved right sore, 100 
And sware that their landlords had plagued them so. 
That they were not able to keepe open doore. 
Nor nothing had left to rive to the poore : 
Therefore to this wood I doe me repayre, 
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best fare. 105 

Yet within this some desert some comfort I have 
Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds ; 
Who have vowed to company me to my grave. 
Wee are ' all' put to silence, and live upon weeds, 
' And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds'; 110 

Our banishment is its utter decay-. 

The which the riche glutton will answer one day. 

Why then, I said to him, me*thinks it were best 
To goe to the clergie ; for dailye they preach 
Eche man to love you above all the rest ; 115 

Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds', they 

teach. 
O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach, 
For their wives and their children soe hangethem 

upon, 
That whosoever gives almes they will 9 give none 

Then laid he him down, and turned him away, ISO 
And prayd me to goe, and leave him to rest. 
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day 
For him and bis fellowes to live with the best. 
First, said he, banish Pride, then all England were 
blest; [land, 125 

For then those wold love us, that now sell their 
And then good ' house-keeping wold revive' out 
of hand. 



Ver. 05, And bow, MS. Y. 101. m sore, MS. V. 109, 
ill, MS. V. 110, not in MS. V. U0,alme»deedft. Y. 1*>, 
booses every where wold be kept, MS. 

• We ought In justice and troth to read ' ccd.' 



If. 



PLAIN TRUTH, AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 



This excellent old belied is preserved in the little 
ancient miscellany, entitled, " The Garland of Good- 
will." Ignorance is brre made to apeak in the broad 
Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may suppose 
Co be Glastonbury Abbey, 

TRUTH. 

God speedjou, ancient latter! 

Ana give you a $dbd daye { 
What is the cause^I praye yon, 

80 sadly here yon stave ? 
And that yon keep such gating 5 

On this decayed place, 
The which, for superstition, 

Good princes down did rase 1 



IGNORANCE. 



Chill tell thee, by my F 

That sometimes cue have kiiowne 
A vair and goodly abbey 

Stand here of bricke and stone ; 
And many a holy vrier, 

As ich may say to thee, 
Within these goodly cloysters 

Che did full often 



10 



15 



TRUTH. 

Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truthe and veritid, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites 

Thou couldat not likely see ; 
Deceiving of the simple 

With false and feigned lies : 
But such an order truly 

Christ never did devise. 

IGNORANCE. 

Ah ! ah t che smell thee now, man j 

Che know wefrwhat thou art ; 
A vellow of mean learning, 

Thee was not worth a vart : 
Vor when we had the old lawe, 

A merry world was then ; 
And every thing was jflenty 

Among all sorts of men* 

TRUTH. 

Thou {rivest me an answer, 

As did the Jewes sometimes 
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 

When he accus'd their crimes : 
Twas merry, sayd the people, 

And joyfull in our rea'me, 
When we did offer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen ofheav'n. 



SO 



25 



90 



35 



40 



• ic. faitben: as In the Midland counties thev aav 
dosen, for aooaet, dote*. A. -^■v 



IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee what, good vellowe, 

Before the vriers went hence, 
A bushel! of the best wheate 

Was sold vor vourteen pence ; 
And vorty egges a penny, 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this che say my self have zeene. 

And yet ich am no Jewe. 

TRUTH 

Within the sacred bible 

We find it written plain, 
The latter days should troublesome 

And dangerous be, certaine ; 
That we should be self-lovers. 

And charity wax colde ; 
Then 'tis not true religion 

That makes thee grief to holde. 

IGNORANCE, 

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine. 

And chouTd that well ye knewe, 
Ich care not for die bible booke : 

Tis too tw to be true. 
Our blessed ladyes psalter 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee ", 

The bible cannot zhowe. 

TRUTH. 

Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 

For in that book indeede 
No mention of our lady, 

Or Romish saint we read : 
For by the blessed Spirit 

That book indited was, 
And not by simple persons, 

As was the foolisn masse. 

IGNORANCE, 

Cham sure they were not vooliahe 

That made the masse, che trowe j 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 

And vools no Latine knowe. 
Were not our fathers wise men, 

And they did like it well; 
Who very much rejoyced 

To heare the sacring bell ? 

TRUTH. 

But many kinges and prophets, 

As I may say to thee, 
Have wisht the light that you have, 

And could it never see : 
For what art thou the better 

A Latin song to heare, 
And understandest nothing, 

That they sing in the quiere ? 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



•I 



• Probably aUodJag to the fill 
etc. 



peahen, 
M f 



164 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



IGNORANCE. 



O bold thy peace, cbe pray thee, 

The noise was passing trim 
To heare the Triers zinging, 

As we did enter in : 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints ;— 
But now to zee them wandring 

My heart with zorrow vaints. 

TRUTH. 

The Lord did give commandment, 

No image thou shouldst make. 
Nor that unto idolatry 

You should your self betake : 
The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile ; 
And Baal's priests and temple * 

Were brought to utter foile. 

IGNORANCE. 

But our lady of Walsinghame 

Was a pure and holy zaint, 
And many men in pilgrimage 

Did shew to her complaint. 
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket, 

And many other moe : 
The holy maid of Kent * likewise 

Did many wonders showe. 

TRUTH. 

Such saints are well agreeing 
To your profession sure ; 

And to the men that made them 
80 preoioua and so pure ; 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



The one for being a traytoure, 

Met an untimely death ; 
The other eke for treason 

Did end her hateful breath. 

IGNORANCE. 

Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them how you wille : 
But sure they did much goodness* ; 

Would they were with us stille ! 
We had our holy water, 

And holy bread likewise, 
And many holy reliques 

We saw before our eyes. 

TRUTH. 

And all this while they fed you 

With vaine and empty showe, 
Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctors knowe : 
Search then the holy scriptures, 

And thou shalt plainly see 
That headlong to damnation 

They alway trained thee. 

IGNORANCE. 

If it be true, good vellowe, 

As thou dost zay to mee, 
Unto my heavenly fader 

Alone then will I flee : 
Believing in the Gospel, 

And passion of his Zon, 
And with the subtil napistes 

Ich have for ever done. 



ltO 



125 



ISO 



135 



III. 
THE WANDERING JEW. 



The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable 
antiquity : it had obtained full credit in this part of 
the world before the year 12*8, as we learn from 
Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there 
came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit 
the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches ; 
who, being entertained at the monastery of 8t Al- 
bans, was asked several questions relating to his 
country, &c. Among the rest a monk, who sat near 
him, inquired " if he had ever seen or heard of the 
famous person named Joseph, that was so much 
talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion 
and conversed with him, and who was still alive in 
confirmation of the Christian faith." The archbishop 
answered, That the fact was true. And afterwards 
one of his train, who was well known tor a servant 
of the abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told 
them in French, «• That his lord knew the person 
they spoke of very well : that he had dined at his 
table but a little while before he left the East : that 
he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by name Carta- 
philus ; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of 

•By name EUs. Barton, executed April 21, 1634. Stow, 
p. C70. 



the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his 
fist on the back, saying, "Go faster, Jesus, go faster, 
why dost thou linger 1" Upon which Jesus looked 
at him with a frown, and said, " I indeed am going, 
but thou shalt tarry till I come." Soon after he was 
converted, and baptized by the name of Joseph. He 
lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years 
falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit 
or ecstacy, out of which when he recovers, he re- 
turns to the same state of youth he was in when Je- 
sus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. 
He remembers all the circumstances of the death and 
resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him, 
the composing of the apostles creed, their preaching, 
and dispersion ; and is himself a very grave and holy 
person/' This is the substance of Matthew Pane's 
account, who was himself a monk of St Albans, and 
was living at the time when the Armenian archbishop 
made the above relation. 

8inoe his time soveral impostors hare appeared at 
intervals under the name ana character of the "Wan- 
dering Jew ;" whose several histories may be seen 
in Calmet's dictionary of the Bible. See also the 
Turkish 8py, Vol. II. Book 8. Let 1. The story 
that is copied in the following ballad is of one, who 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



165 



appeared at Hamburgh in 1547, and pretended he 
had been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ's 
crucifixion. — The ballad however seems to be of 
later date. It is preserved in black-letter in the Pe- 
pys collection. 

When as in faire Jerusalem 

Our Saviour Christ did live, 
And for the sins of all the worlde 

His own deare life did give ; 
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes 5 

Did dailye him molest, 
That never till he left his life. 

Our Saviour could not rest. 



When they had crown'd his head with thornes, 

And scourgM him to disgrace, 10 

In scornfull sort they led him forthe 

Unto his dying puce, 
Where thousand thousands in the streete 

Beheld him passe along, 
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15 

That pityed this his wrong. 

Both old and young reviled him, 

As in the streete he wente, 
And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 

By every ones consente : 20 

His owne deare orosse he bore himaelfe, 

A burthen far too great, 
Which made him in the street to fainte, 
. With blood and water sweat. 

Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 15 

To ease his burthened soule, 
Upon a stone ; the which a wretch 

Did churlishly controule ; 
And sayd, Awaye, thou King of Jewes, 

Thou shalt not rest thee here ; 30 

Pass on ; thy execution place 

Thou seest nowe draweth neare. 

And thereupon he thrust him thence j 

At which our Saviour sayd, 
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35 

And have no journey stayed. 
With that this cursed shoemaker, 

For offering Christ this wrong, 
Left wife ana children, house and all, 

And went from thence along. 40 

Where after he had seene the blonde 

Of Jesus Christ thus shed, 
And to the cross© his bodye nailM, 

Awaye with speed he fled 
Without returning backe againe 45 

Unto his dwelling place, 
And wandred up and downe the worlde, 

A runnagate most base. 

No resting could he finde at all, 

No ease, nor hearts content ; 50 

No house, nor home, nor biding place : 

But wandring forth he went 
From towne to towne in foreigne landes, 

With grieved conscience still, 
Repenting for the heinous guilt 55 

Of his fore-passed ill. 



Thus after some fewe ages past 

In wandring up and downe ; 
He much again desired to see 

Jerusalems renowne, 
But finding it all quite destroyd, 

He wandred thence with woe, 
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke, 

To verifie and showe. 

" 111 rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 

So doth this wandring Jew 
From place to place, but cannot rest 

For seeing countries newe ; 
Declaring still the power of him, 

Whereas he comes or goes, 
And of all things done in the east, 

Since Christ his death, he showes. 

The world he hath still compast round 

And seene those nations strange, 
That hearing of the name of Christ, 

Their idol gods doe change : 
To whom he hath told wondrous thinges 

Of time forepast, and gone, 
And to the princes of the worlde 

Declares his cause of moane : 

Desiring stfll to be dissolvM, 

And yettd his mortal breath ; 
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed, 

He shall not yet see death. 
For neither lookes he old nor young, 

But as he did those times, 
When Christ did suffer on the crosse 

For mortall sinners crimes, 

He hath past through many a foreigne place, 

Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 
Grecia, 8yria, and great Thrace, 

And throughout all Hungaria, 
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ, 

Those blest apostles deare ; 
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 

In countries far and neare. 

And lately in Bohemia, 

With many a German towne ; 
And now in Flanders, as til thought, 

He wandreth up and downe : 
Where learned men with him conferre 

Of those his lingering dayes, 
And wonder much to heare him tell 

His journeyes, and his wayes. 

If people give this Jew an almes. 

The most that he will take 
Is not above a groat a time : 

Which he, for Jesus' sake, 
Will kindlye give unto the poore. 

And thereof make no spare, 
Affirming still that Jesus Christ 

Of him hath dailye care. 

He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile, 

But weepe and make great moane ; 
Lamenting still his miseries, 

And dayes forepast and gone: 
If he heare any one blaspheme, 

Or take God's name in vaine, 
He telle s them that they crucifie. 

Their Saviour Christe againe. 



65 



TO 



7$ 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



.90 



10b 



THE LYE.- 



If yon had seene bis death, saith he, 
A* these mine eyes have done, 

Ten thousand thousand times would yea 
His torments think upon : 



And suffer for his sake all peine 
Of torments, and all woes. 

These are his wordes and eke his life 
Whereas he cornea or goes. 



125 



IV. 
THE LYE. 



BT SIR WAITER RALEIOH, 



•< 



found in a very scarce miscellany tntitled 
Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided 
into sixe books. .... The 4th impression newly 
corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more 
pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12 mo." This 
poem is reported to have been written by its cele- 
brated author the night before his execution, Oct 29. 
1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at 
least two editions of Davison's poems before that 
time, one in 1608 •, the other in 1611 f. So that 
unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th 
edit, it must have been written long before the death 
of Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after 
his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's life of Sir 
Walter Raleigh, p. 173, foL 

Gob, soule, the bodies guest, 
Upon a thankelesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best, 
The truth shall be thy wasrant : 

Goe, since I needs must dye, 5 

And give the world the lye. 



Goe tell the court, it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Got tell the church it showes 
What's good, and doth no good : 
If church and court reply. 
Then give them both the lye. 



Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others actions ; 
Not lord unlesse they give, 
Not strong but by their factions ; 
If potentates reply, 
Give potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 
That rule affairs of state, 
Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practise onely hate ; 
And if they once reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 

i 

Tell them that brave it most, 

They beey for more by spending, 
Who in their greatest cost 

8eek nothing but commending ; 
And if they make reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



* Catalogue of T. Rawltnaon, 1797. 

♦ CaUlogiM of Sioa colL library. Thia b cither loit or 
•mala id. 



Tell aeale, it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love, it is but lust ; 
Tell time, it is but motion ; 
Tell flesh, it is but dust ; 
And wish them not reply. 
For thou must give the lye. 

Tell age, it daily wasteth ; 

Tell honour, how it alters ; 
Tell beauty, how she blasteth ; 
Tell favour, how she falters ; 
And as they shall reply, 
. Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit, how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse; 

Tell wisedome, she entangles 
Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 



35 



40 



45 



And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both 



the lye. 



Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill, it is pretension ; 
Tell charity of coldness ; 
Tell law, it is contention ; 
And as they yield reply/ 
So give them still the lye. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 
Tell justice of delay : 
And if they dare reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 

Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse, 
And stand too much on seeming : 
If arts and schooles reply, 
Give arts and schooles the lye. 

Tell faith, it's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the countrey erreth ; 
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie ; 
Tell, vertue least preferreth : 
And, if they doe reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 

So, when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing, 
Although to give the lye 
Deserves no less than stabbing. 
Yet stab at thee who will, 
No stab the soule can kill. 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



16 



V. 



VERSES BY KING JAMES I. 



In the fim tdition of this book were inserted, by 
way of speck ten of his Majesty's poetic talents, 
some punning verses made on the disputations at 
Sterling j but it having been suggested to the Editor, 
that the king only gave the quibbling commenda- 
tions in prose, and that some obsequious court- 
rhymer put them into metre • j it was thought proper 
to exchange them for two sonnets of King James's 
own composition. James was a great versifier, and 
therefore out of the multitude of his poems, we have 
here selected two, which (to shew our impartiality) 
are written in his best and his worst manner. The 
first would not dishonour any writer of that time ; 
the second is a most complete example of the 
Bathos. 

A SONNET ADDBESSBD BY IWO JAV1S TO BIS SON 
PRINCE IIENRY. 

From King James's Works in folio : where is 
also printed another called his Majesty's "own 
Sonnet ;" it would perhaps be too cruel to infer 
from thence that this was not his Majesty's own 
sonnet. 

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine. 
For on his throne his scepter do they swey : 
And as their subjects ought them to obey, 

So kings should feare and serve their God againe. 

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, 

Observe the statutes of our heavenly King ; ' 
And from his law make all your laws to spring; 

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. 



Rewarde the fust, be stedfast, true and plaine ; 
Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right , 
Walke always so, as ever in His sight, 

Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane. 
And so ye shall in princely vertues shine, 
Resembling right your migbtie King divine. 

A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH 

HINDERED THE SPORTS AT NEWMARKET 

IN JANUARY 1616. 

This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's 
works, folio : where also may be seen some verses 
of Lord Stirling's upon this sonnet, which concludes 
with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen. 

How cruelly these catives do conspire? 

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band 
Betwixt the cankred King of Crete land *, 

That melancholy old and angry sire, 

And him, who wont to quench debate and ire 5 
Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd f ? 
But now his double nice is still dispos'd, 

With Saturn's help, to freese us at the fire. 

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, 
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast : 10 

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, 
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 

Curs'd be that love and mought \ continue sbort, 

Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport. 



VI. 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



The common popular ballad of " King John and 
the Abbot" seems to have been abridged and mo- 
dernised about the time of James I. from one much 
older, entitled, " King John and the Bishop of Can- 
terbury." The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy 
of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted ; 
it however afforded many lines worth, reviving, 
which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas. 

The archness of the following questions and 
answers hath been much admired by our old ballad- 
makers ; for besides the two copies above men- 
tioned, there is extant another ballad on the same 
subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), entitled, 
" King Olfrey and the Abbot. -. Lastly, about the 
time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the 

-— ■ — ■ ■ — ■ — ■ i 

• See a folio, IntiUcd, "The Moses welcome to King 
James. 

f See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols. 1757. 
Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a conniption of Alfred, in 
bis pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, 6. 



bishops, some puritan worked up the same story 
into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concern- 
ing " King Henry and a Bishop ;" with this stinging 
moral: 

" Unlearned men hard matters out can find, 
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind." 

The following is chiefly printed from an ancient 
black-letter copy, to " The tune of Derry down." 

An ancient story Be tell you anon 
Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; 
And he ruled England with maine and with might, 
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. 

And He tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5 

Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye ; 
How for his house-keeping, and high renown* 
They rode poste for him to fair London tow&av 



* Saturn. 



t Janus. 



% i. c. ma? 



i -- 



I - 

r 



166 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OP CANTERBURY. 



An hundred men, the king did heare say, 

The abbot kept in his house every day $ 10 

And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt. 

In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, 
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15 
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown. 

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, 
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ; 
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere, 
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. 20 

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe. 
And now for the same thou needest must dye ; 
For except thou canst answer me questions three, 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodle. 

And first, quo 1 the king, when I'm in this stead, 25 
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. 



Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 
1 low soone I may ride the whole world about. 
And at the third question thou must not shrink, 
But tell me here truly what 1 do think. 



30 



O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt. 
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35 
He do iny endeavour to answer your grace. 

Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 
And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; 
For if thou dost not answer my questions three, 
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. 40 

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, 
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford j 
But never a doctor there was so wise, 
That could with his learning an answer devise. 

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45 
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King John 1 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give; 
That I have but three days more to live : 50 

For if I do not answer him questions three, 
My head will be smitten from my bodie. 



The first is to tell him there in that stead, 
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, 
Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 
To within one penny of whnt he is worth. 



55 



Hie leoonde, to tell him, without any doubt, 
How soone he may ride this whole world about : 
And at tne third question 1 must not shrinke. 
Bat tell him there truly what he docs thinke." 60 



Nowcheare up, aire abbot, did you never hear yet, 
That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel, 
And 111 ride to London to answere your quarrel. 

Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65 

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee : 

And if you will but lend me your gowne. 

There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne. 



Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have, 
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave ; 
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope. 
Fit to appear© 'fore our fader the pope. 



70 



Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, 
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day ; 
For and if thou canst answer my questions three, 7b 
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, 
With my crown of golde so fair on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80 

" For thirty pence our Saivour was sold 
Among the raise Jewes, as I have bin told : 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel 9 , 85 
I did not think I had been worth so littel ! 
— Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, 
How soone I may ride this whole world about. 

'< You must rise with the sun, and ridejwith the same, 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 90 

And then your grace need not make any doubt, 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 
1 did not think, it could be gone so soone ! 
—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke 
But tell me here truly what I do thinke. 96 

" Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry : 
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury ; 
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, 
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."l00 

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 
He make thee lord abbot this day in his place ! 
" Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, 
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade." 



Four nobles a week, then I will give thee, 105 

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee ; 
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, 
Thou has brought him a pardon from good King 
John. 



• • 



Meaning probably St. Botolpu. 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 



169 



VII. 



YOU MEANER DEAUTIESL 



This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry 
Wotton, knight, on that amiable princess, Elizabeth 
daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Pala- 
tine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 
16 19. The consequences of this fatal election are 
well known : Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and 
the following year was employed in several embassies 
in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems 
to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit 
and fortunes, for he gave away a iewel worth s 
thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the 
emperor, " because it came from an enemy to his 
royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia." See Biog. 
Britan. 

This song is printed from the Riliqui* Wottoniarue, 
1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy. 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorly satisfie our eies 
More by your number, than your light ; 



You common people of the skies. 

What are you when the moon shall rise f * 

Ye violets that first appeare, 

By your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud virgins of the yeare, 
As if the spring were all your own ; 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 



10 



Ye curious chaunters of the wood, 

That warble forth dame Nature's layes, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents : what's your praise, 
Whon Philomell her voyce shall raise 1 J 5 

So when my mistris shal be seene 
In sweetnesse of her looks and minde ; 

By virtue first, then choyce a queen ; 
Tell me, if she was not design'd 
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind 1 SO 



VIIL 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 



This excellent old song, the subject of which is a 
comparison between the manners of the old gentry, 
as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the 
modern refinements affected by their sons in the 
reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, 
from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys col- 
lection, compared with another printed among some 
miscellaneous <( poems and songs," in a book inti- 
tled, " Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo, 

An old song made by an aged old pate, [estate, 

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; 

Like an old courtier ox the queen's. 

And the queen's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word ass wages ; 
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, 
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, foot- 
men, nor pages, [badges ; 
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old study filTd full of learned old books, 
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him 

by his looks, 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, 
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old 
Like an old courtier, &c. [cooks. 



With an old hall, hong about with pikes, guns, and 

bows. 
With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many 

shrewde blows, [hose, 

And an old frixe coat, to cover his worship's trunk 
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose ; 
Like an old courtier, &o. 

With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come, 
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and 

drum, 
With good chear enough to furnish every old room, 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man 
like an old courtier, &c [dumb. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of 
hounds, [grounds, 

That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own 

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own 
bounds, 

And when he dyed gave every obild a thousand good 
Like an old courtier, &c [pounds; 

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign 'd, 
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull 
mind, [be kind : 

To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was 
inclin'd ; 

Like a young courtier of the king's, 
And the king's young courtier. 



170 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING 8 CAMPAIGNS. 



Like s flourishing young gallant, newly come to his 
land, [mand, 

Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his com- 

And takes op a thousand pound upon his father's 
land, [stand ; 

And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor 
Like a young courtier, &c 

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and 
spare. 

Who never knew what belonged to good house- 
keeping, or care, [air, 

Who buyes gaudy-colorM fans to play with wanton 

And seven or eight different dressings of other 
women's hair ; 

Like a young courtier, &c 

With a new-faahion'd hall, built where the old one 
stood, [good. 

Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no 

With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither 
coal nor wood, [ne'er stood ; 

And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals 
Like a young courtier, &c 

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays, 
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, 



With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four 
or fire days, [and toys ; 

And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, 
Like a young courtier, &c 

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on. 
On a new journey to London straight we all must 

begone, [John, 

And leave none to keep house, but our new porter 
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back 

with a stone ; 

Like a young courtier, &c 

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is 
compleat, [up the meat. 

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry 

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is 
very neat, [eat ; 

Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not 
Like a young courtier, &c 

With new titles of honour bought with his father's 
old gold, [sold ; 

For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are 
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold. 
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grow* 
so cold, 

Among the young courtiers of the king. 
Or the king s young courtiers. %* 



IX. 
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE. 



When the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, 
and advanced to the English borders in 1639, many 
of the courtiers complimented the king by raising 
forces at their own expence. Among these none 
were more distinguished than the gallant Sir John 
Suckling, who raised a troop of horse, so richly ac- 
coutred, that it cost him 12,000/. The like expen- 
sive equipment of other parts of the army, made the 
king remark, that " the Scots would fight stoutly, if 
it were but for the Englishmen's fine cloatns." 
[Lloyd's Memoirs.] When they came to action, the 
rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine 
shewy English: many of whom behaved remarkably 
ill, and anions; the rest this splendid troop of Sir 
John Suckling's. 

This humorous pasauil has been generally sup- 
posed to have been written by Sir John, as a banter 
upon himself. Some of his contemporaries however 
attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those 
times, among whose poems it is printed in a small 
poetical miscellany, intitled, " Musarum deliciss : or 
the Muses recreation, containing several pieces of 
poetique wit, id edition, — By Sir J. M. [Sir John 
Mennis] and Ja. 8. [James Smith.] London 1656, 

12mo." [See Woods Athena?, 11.397, 418.] In 

that copy is subjoined an additional stanza, which 
probably was written by this Sir John Mennis, vis. 

" But now there is peace, he's return'd to increase, 
His money, which lately be spent-a, 

But his lost honour must lye still in the dust ; 
At Berwick away it went-a." 

Sir John he got him an ambling nag, 

To Scotland for to ride-a, 
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore, 

To guard him on every side-a. 



£ 



No Errant-knight ever went to fight 

With halfe so gay a bravada, 
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a 

Heeld have conquer'd a whole armada. [book, 

The ladies ran all to the windows to see 
So gallant and warlike a sight-a, 10 

And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh. 
Sir John, why will you go figbt-al 

But he, like a cruel knight, spurrM on ; 

His heart would not relent-a, 
For, till he came there, what had he to fear ! 15 

Or why should he repent*? 

The king (God bless him !) had singular hopes 

Of him and all his troop-a : 
The borderers they, as they met him on the way, 

For joy did hollow, and whoop-a. 20 

None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell, 

Who took him for John de Wert-a ; 
But when there were shows of gunning and blows, 

My gallant was nothing so pert-a. 



For when the Scots army came within sight. 

And all prepared to fight-a, 
He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant, 

He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a. 



25 



V«r. M. John da Wert wu a German general of great 
reputation, and the tern* of the French In the reign of 
Louis Xll I. Hence hi* name became proverbial in Franc* 
where he wu called De Vert. See Bayle'f Dictionaty. 



THE DOWNFALL OP CHARING-CROS8. 



171 



The colonell sent for him back agen, 

To quarter him in the van-a, 30 

Bat Sir John did swear, he would not come there, 

To be kill'd the very first man-a. 



To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare, 
Some ten miles back, and more-a ; 

Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 
And ne'er saw the enemy more-a. 



35 



X. 



TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON; 



This excellent sonnet, which possessed 8 high 
degree of feme among the old cavaliers, was written 
by Colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement 
in the gate-house Westminster : to which he was 
committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642, 
for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, 
requesting them to restore the king to his rights, 
find to settle the government See Wood's Athene, 
Vol. II. p. 528, and Lysons's Environs of London, 
Vol. I. p. 109 ; where may be seen at large the 
affecting story of this elegant writer, who after 
having been distinguished for every gallant and 
polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own sex, 
*ud the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest 
wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658. 

This song is printed from a scarce volume o Us 
jwerna untitled, " Lucasta, 1649, 12mo. M collated with 
u copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

When love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lye tangled in her baire, 5 

And fetterM with her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the airs, 

Know no such liberty* 



When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our carelesse heads with roses crown*d, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, 

When healths and draughts goe free, 
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 

Know no such libertie. 

When, linnet-like, confined I 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercye, sweetness, majestye, 

And glories of my king ; 
When I shall voyce aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, 
Tb' enlarged windes, that curie the flood, 

Know no such libertie. 

Stone walls doe not a prison make, 

Nor iron barres a cage, 
Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage : 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soule am free, 
Angels alone, that soare above, 

Enjoy such libertie. 



10 



SO 



25 



50 



XI. 



THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS. 



N 



Charing-cross, as it stood before the civil wan, 
was one of those beautiful Gothic obelisks erected 
to conjugal affection by Edward I. who built such 8 
one wherever the herse of his beloved Eleanor rested 
m its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But 
neither its ornamental situation, the beauty of its 
structure, nor the noble design of its erection (which 
did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the 
merciless zeal of the times : For, in 1647, it was 
demolished by order of the House of Commons, as 
popish and superstitious. This occasioned the fol- 
lowing not unhumourous sarcasm which has been 
often printed among the popular sonnets of those 
times. 

The plot referred to in ver. 17, was that entered 
into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a 
view to reduce the city and tower to the service of 
the king; lor which two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins 
and Richard Chaloner suffered death July 5. 164 J. 
Vid, Athen. Ox. II. t4. 



Undone, undone the lawyers are, 

They wander about the towne, 
Nor can find the way to Westminster, 

Now Charing-cross is downe : 
At the end of the Strand, they make 8 stand, 

Swearing they are at a loss, 
And chaffing say, that's not the way, 

They must go by Charing-cross. 

The parliament to vote it down 

Conceived it very fitting, 
For fear it should mil, and kill them all, 

In the house, as they were sitting. 
They were told, god-wot, it had a plot, 

Which made them so hard-hearted, 
To eive command, it should not stand, 

But be taken down and carted. 



10 



15 



Vcr 10, with woe-allaying them**, MS. Thames is ated 
for water in funeral. 



Men talk of plots, this might hare been worse 

For anything I know, 
Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner, 

Were hang*d for long agoe. tO 

Our parliament did that prevent, 

And wisely them defended, 
For plots they will discover still, 

Before they were intended. 

But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 

Will say, I'm confident, 
They ever heard it speak one word 

Against the parliament. 
An informer swore, it letters bore, 

Or else it bad been freed ; SO 

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath, 

It could neither write, nor read. 

The committee said, that verily 

To popery it was bent ; 
For ought I know it might be so, 35 

For to church it never went. 
What with excise, and such device, 

The kingdom doth begin 
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 

Without doors nor within. 40 



Methinks the common-council shou'd 

Of it have taken pity, 
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 

So firmly to the city* 
Since crosses you so much disdain, 45 

* Faith, if I were as you, 
For feare the king should rule again, 

I'd pull down Tyburn too. 

\* Whitelocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheapride 
cross and other crosses were voted down," && — But 
this Vote was not put in execution with regard to 
" Charing Cross " till four years after, as appears 
from Lilly's Observations on the Life, &c of King 
Charles, vis. " Cbaring-Cross, we know, was pulled 
down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of 
the stones were eon verted to pave before Whitehall. 
I have seen Knife-hafts made of some of the stones, 
which, being well polished, looked like marble." 
Ed. 1715, p. 18, ISmo. 

See an Account of the pulling down Cbeapside 
Cross, in the Supplement to Gent. Mag. 1764. 



XII. 



LOYALTY CONFINED. 



This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's 
" Memoires of those that suffered in the cause of 
Charles I." London 1668, fol. p. 96. He speaks of 
it as the composition of a worthy personage, who 
suffered deeply in those times, ana was still living 
with no other reward than the conscience of having 
suffered. The author's name he has not mentioned, 
but, if tradition may be credited, this song was 
written by Sir Roger L'Estrange. — 8ome mistakes 
in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, one in 
| MS. the other in the " Westminster Drollery, or a 
choice Collection of 8ongs and Poems, 1671." 
Izmo. 

Beat on, proud billows ; Boreas blow; 

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof; 
Your incivility doth show, 
That innocence is tempest proof ; 
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm ; 
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. 6 

That which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet is to me : 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail, 
And innocence my liberty : 10 

Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, 
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 



15 



I, whilst I wight to be retir'd, 

Into this private room was turn'd ; 
As if their wisdoms bad conspir'd 
The salamander should be bum'd : 
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish, 
I am constraint to suffer what I wish. 



The cynick loves his poverty ; 

The pelican her wilderness ; . 20 

And 'tis the Indian's pride to be 
Naked on frozen Caucasus : 
Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see 
Make torments easie to their apathy. 

These manacles upon my arm *5 

I, as my mistress' favours, wear ; 
And for to keep my ancles warm, 
I have some iron shackles there : 
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, 
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel 30 

I'm in the cabinet lockt up, 

Like some high-priced margarite, 
Or, like the great mogul or pope, 
Am cloyster'd up from publick sight : 
Retiredness is a piece of majesty, 35 

And thus proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. 

Here sin for want of food must starve, 

Where tempting objects are not seen* 
And these strong walls do only serve 

To keep vice out, and keep me in : 40 

Malice of late's grown charitable sure, 
I'm not committed, but am kept secure. 

So he that struck at Jason's life*, 
Thinking t' have made his purpose sure. 

By a malicious friendly knife 45 

Did only wound him to a cure : 



* See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat Deornm, Lib. 
S, c. 28. Clc.de Offic. Lib. I. c.30; •eealaoVaLMax. 1,8, 



VERSES BY KINO CHARLES I. 



173 



Malice, I see, wants wit ; for what is meant 
Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event 

When once my prince affliction hath, 

Prosperity doth treason seem ; 50 

And to make smooth so rough a path, 
I can learn patience from him : 
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart, 
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part 

What though I cannot see my king 55 

Neither in person or in com ; 
Yet contemplation is a thing 
That renders what I hare not, mine : 
My king from me what adamant can part, 
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart! 60 

Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A prisoner like, ooopt in 8 cage, 



How doth she chaunt her wonted tale 
In that ber narrow hermitage ? 
Even then her charming melody doth prove, 
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. 

I am that bird, whom they combine 

Thus to deprive of liberty ; 
But though they do my corps confine, 
Yet maugre hate, my soul ia free : 
And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and sing 
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 

My soul is free, as ambient air, 

Although my baser part's immew'd, 
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 
T* accompany my solitude : 
Although rebellion do my body binde. 
My king alone can captivate my minde. 



65 



70 



75 



XIII. 



VERSES BY KING CHARLES I. 



E 



" This prince, like his father, did not confine him- 
self to prose: Bishop Burnet hae given us apathetic 
elegy, said to be written by Charles in Carisbrook 
castle [in 1648.] The poetry is most uncouth and 
unharmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it, 
some good sense, and 8 strain of majestic piety." 
Mr. Wslpole's Royal and Noble Authors, vol. I. 

It is in his " Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton," 

379, that Burnet hath preserved this elegy, which 
e tells us he had from a gentleman, who waited on 
the king at the time when it was written, and copied 
it out Cram the original. It is there intitled, ** Ma- 
jesty in Miseby : on an Ihploration to thb Kino 
or Kinos." 

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, "that the 
truth of the sentiment, rather than the elegance of 
the expression, renders them very pathetic" See 
his History, 1763, 4to. VoL V. pjh 437. 442. which 
is no bad comment upon them.— These are almost 
the only verses known of Charles's composition. 
Indeed a little Poem "On a Quite Conscience," 
printed in the Poetical Calendar, 1763, voL VIIL is 
attributed to King Charles I ; being reprinted from 
a thin 8vo. published by Nahum Tate, called " Mis- 
cellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Moral 
Subjects." 

Great monarch of the world, from whose power 
The potency and power of longs, [springs 

Record the royal woe my suffering sings ; 

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 

Its faculties m truth's seraphick line, 6 

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 

Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
(The only root of righteous royaltie) 
With this dim diadem invested me : 



With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 
The holy unction, and the royal globe : 
Yet am I levell'd with the lire of Job. 



10 



- 



The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 

Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head, 

Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 15 

They raise a war, and christen it the cause, 
While sacrilegious hands have best applause, 
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 

Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 

Bievenge and robbery are reformation, 20 

Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season 
Attend me (by the law of God and reason), 
They dare impeach, and punish for high treason. 

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25 

Pious episcopacy must go down, 

They will destroy the crosier and the crown. 

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed, 

Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed. 

The crown is crucified with the creed. 30 

The church of England doth all factions foster, 
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor, 
Extempcr* excludes the Paternoeter, 

The Presbyter, and Independent seed 

Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed 

Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36 

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier : 
With such a bloody method and behaviour 
Their ancestors did crueifie our Saviour. 

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 40 
8o many princes legally hare come. 
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 

Great Britain's heir is forced into France, 
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 
Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance* 45 



174 



THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



With my own power my majesty they wound. 
In the king's name the long himself 8 uncrown'd 
So doth the dost destroy the diamond. 

With propositions daily they enchant 

My people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 50 

And the Almighty will not let me grant. 

They promise to erect my royal stem, 
To make me great, t' advance my diadem, 
If I will first mil down, and worship them I 

Bat for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 

Distress my children, and destroy my hones ; 
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones. 

My life they prise at such a slender rate, 

That in my absence they draw bills of hate, 

To prove the king a traytor to the state. 60 



Felons obtain more privilege than I, 
They are allowed to answer ere they die ; 
'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why. 

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 65 

Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do. 

For since they from their lord are so disjointed, 
As to contemn those edicts he appointed'. 
How can they prise the power or his anointed 1 



Augment my patience, nullifie my hate, 

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate ; 

Yet, though we perish, bUn this church and rtatt, 



70 



XIV. 
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty is 
printed from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection, corrected by two others, one of which is 
preserved in «• A choioe collection of 120 loyal songs, 
ice" 1684, lfmov—To the tune of Old Simon the 
king. 

Rebellion hath broken up house, 

And hath left me old lumber to sell ; 
Come hither, and take your choice, 

I'll promise to use you well : 
Will you buy the old speaker ■ chair T 5 

Which was warm and easie to sit in, 
And oft bath been clean'd I declare, 

When as it was fouler than fitting. 
Says old Simon the king, &c 

Will you buy any bacon-flitches, 10 

The fattest, that ever were spent f 
They're the sides of the old committees, 

Fed up in the long parliament. 
Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs, 

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'run ; 15 
They are made of the presbyters lungs, 

To blow up the coals of rebellion. 
Says old Simon, 6tc 

I had thought to have given them once 

To some black-smith for his forge ; 
But now I have considered on't, 

They are consecrate to the church; 
So 111 give them unto some quire, 

They will make the big organs roar, 
And the little pipes to squeeke higher, 25 

Than ever they could before. 
Says old Simon, flee 

Here's a couple of stools for sale, 
One's square, and t'other is round ; 

Betwixt them both the tail 50 

Of the Rump fell down to the ground. 

Will you buy the states council-table, 



SO 



Which was made of the good wain Scott 
The frame was a tottering Babel 
To uphold the Independent plot. 35 

Says old 8imon, &c 

Here's the beesom of Reformation, 

Which should have made clean the floor. 
But it swept the wealth out of the nation. 

And left us dirt good store. 40 

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel. 

Which spun for the roper's trade) 
But better it had stood still, 

For now it has spun a fair thread. 

Says old Simon, etc 45 

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd, 

Which was made of a butcher's sturn^*. 
And has been safely apply'd, 

To cure the colds or the rump. 
Here's a lump of Pilgrim's-Salve, 50 

Which once was a justice of peace, 
Who Noll and the Devil did serve; 

But now it is come to this. 
Says old 8imon, flee. 

Here's a roll of the states tobacco, 56 

If any good fellow will take it ; 
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o. 

And I'll tell you how they did make it : 
Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt 

Up with the Abjuration oath ; 60 

And many of them, that have took't, 

Complain it was foul in the mouth. 
Says old Simon, &c 

Yet the ashes may happily serve 

To cure the scab of the nation, 65 

Whene'er 't has an itch to swerve^ 

To Rebellion by innovation. 

s m 

• Alluding probably to Major-Geoerml Harrison, a but- 
eoer'f ion, who assisted Cromwell in tuning out the long 
parliament April to, 1698. 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



175 



A Lanthorn here is to be bought. 
The like was scarce ever gotten, 

For many plots it has found out 
Before tney ever were thought on 
Says old Simon, &c 

WiO yon buy the Rump's greet saddle, 

With which it jockyM the nation? 
And "here is the bitt, and the bridle, 

And curb of Dissimulation : 
And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump, 

And their fair dissembling cloak, 
And a Presbyterian jump, 

With an Independent smock, 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd, 
Which serv'd the high-court of justice, 

And stretch'd until England it mourn 'd : 
But hell will buy that if the worst is. 

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub, 
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, 



70 



80 



95 



85 



With which old Noll's horns she did rub, 
When he was eot drunk with false bumpers. 

Says old Simon, &c 90 

Here's the purse of the public faith ; 
^Here's the model of the Sequestration, 
When the old wives upon their good troth, 

Lent thimbles to rune the nation. 
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship, 

And here are Lambert's commissions, 
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip 

Cramm'd with the tumultuous petitions. 
Says old Simon, ceo. 

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, 

And here are his dray, and his slings ; 
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles: 

With diverse other odd things : 
And what is the price doth belong 

To all these matters before ye ? 
111 sell them all for an old song, 

And so I do end my story. 
8ays old Simon, &c. 



100 



105 



XV. 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY, 



Given (with some corrections) from a MS. copy, 
and collated with two printed ones in Roman cha- 
racter in the Pepys dollection. 

Therb was 8 knight was drunk with wine, 

A riding along the way, sir ; 
And there he met with a lady fine, 

Among the cocks of hay, sir. 

Shall you and I, O lady faire, 

Among the grass lye down-a : 
And I will have a special care 

Of rumpling of your gowne-a. 



Upon the grass there is a dewe, 
Will spoil my damask gowne, sir : 

My gowne and kirtle they are newe, 
And cost me many 8 crowne, sir. 

I have a cloak of scarlet red. 
Upon the ground 111 throwe it ; 

Then, lady nure, come lay thy head ; 
Well play, and none shall knows it. 

O yonder stands my steed so free 
Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 

And if the pinner should chance to see, 
Hell take my steed away, sir. 

Upon my finger I have a ring 

Its made of finest gold-a, 
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 

Out of the pinner's fold-a. 



10 



15 



20 



O go with me to my father's hall ; 

Fair chambers there are three, sir: 
And you shall have the best of all, 

And 111 your ohamberlaine bee, sir. 

He mounted himself on his steed so tall. 
And her on her dapple gray, sir : 

And there they rode to her father's hall, 
Fast pricking along the way, sir. 

To her father's hall they arrived strait; 

Twas moated round about-a ; 
She slipped herself within the gate, 

And lockt the knight without-a. 

Here is a silver penny to spend. 
And take it for your pain, sir ; 

And two of my father's men 111 send 
To wait on you back again, sir. 

He from his scabbard drew his brand, 
And wiped it upon his aleeve-a I 

And cursed, he said, be every man. 
That will a maid belie ve-a! 

She drew a bodkin from her hsire, 
And whip'd it upon her gown -a j 

And curs'd be every maiden Aire, 
That will with men lye down-a ! 



tS 



50 



55 



40 



4* 



Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromwell'* wife 
by the Royaliiti, though her name was Elisabeth. Shewaa 
taxed with exchanging the kitchen-stuff for thecandlea use* 
in the Protector's oooaehold, Ac. See Gent Mag. for March 
1788, p. 2-12. ^ 



Ver. 94. 8ee Orey»a Hodibraa, Pt I, Cant % ver. 670 
Ac. V. 100, 102, Cromwell had in his younger yean fol 
lowed the brewing trade at Hantingdos. CoL Hcwton la 
said to nave been originally a coUer. " 



1T6 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



A herb there is, that lowly grows, 
And some do call it rue, sir : 

The smallest dunghill cock that crows, 
Would make a capon of you, sir. 

A flower there is, that shineth bright, 

Some call it mary-gold-a : 
He that wold not when he might, 

He shall not when he wold-a. 

The knight was riding another day, 
With cloak and hat and feather : 

He met again with that lady gay, 
Who was angling in the river. 

Now, lady mire, I've met with yon, 
You shall no more escape me ; 

Remember, how not long agoe 
You falsely did intrap me. 

The lady blushed scarlet red, 
And trembled at the stranger : 

How shall I guard my maidenhead 
From this approaching danger? 

He from his saddle down did light, 

In all his riche attyer ; 
And cryed, As I am a noble knight, 

I do thy charms admyer. 

He took the lady by the hand, 
Who seemingly consented ; 

And would- no more disputing stand : 
She had a plot invented. 

Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray, 

Methinks I now discover 
A riding upon his dapple gray, 

My former constant lover. 

On tip-toe peering stood the knight, 
Fast by the rivers brink-a ; 

The lady pusht with all her migh : 
Sir knight, now swim or sink -a. 

O'er head and ears be plunged in, 
The bottom fair© he sounded ; 

Then rising up, he cried amain, 
Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded! 

Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu I 
You see what comes of fooling : 

That is the fittest place for you ; 
Your courage wanted cooling. 

Ere many days, in her fathers park, 

Just at the close of eve-a, 
Again she met with her angry sparke ; 

Which made this lady grieve-a. 

False lady, here thou'rt in my powre, 
And no one now can hear thee : 

And thou shalt sorely rue the hour. 
That e'er thou dar dst to jeer me. 

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm 

With a young silly maid-a: 
I vow and swear I thought no harm, 

Twas a gentle jest I playd-a. 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, l n J 

To tumble me in and leave me ! 
What if 1 had in the river dy'd ?^— . 

That fetch will not deceive me. 

Once more 111 pardon thee this day, 

Tbo' injur'd out of measure ; 110 

But theu prepare without delay 

To yield thee to my pleasure. 

Well then, if I must grant your suit, 
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir : 

Let me pull off both spur and boot, 115 

Or else you cannot stir, sir. 

He set him down upon the grass, 

And begg'd her kind assistance ; 
Now, smiling thought this lovely lass, 

I'll make you keep your distance. 130 

Then pulling off his boots half-way; 

Sir knight, now I'm your betters : 
You shall not make of me your prey j 

Sit there like a knave in fetters. 

The knight, when she had served him soe, 125 

He fretted, fum'd, and crumbled : 
For he could neither stand nor goe, 

But like a cripple tumbled. 

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, 

Yet do not move nor stir, sir: 130 

111 send you my father's serving men, 
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. 

This merry jest you must excuse, 

You are but a stingless nettle : 
You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, 135 

Had you been a man of mettle. 

All night in grievous rage he lay, 

Rolling upon the plain-a ; 
Next morning a shepherd past tliat way, 

Who set him right agoin-a. 140 

Then mounting upon his steed so tall, 

By hill and dale he swore-a : 
I'll ride at once to her father's hall ; 

She shall escape no more-a. 

111 take her father by the beard, Id 

111 challenge all her kindred ; 
Each dastard soul shall stand afieard ; 

My wrath shall no more be bindred. 

He rode unto her father's house, 

Which every side was moated : 150 

The lady heard his furious vows, 

And ail his vengeance noted. 

Thought shoe, sir knight, to quench your rage, 

Once more I will endeavour : 
This water shall your fury 'swage, 155 

Or else it shall burn for ever. 

Then faining penitence and feare, 

She did invite a parley : 
Sir knight, if you'll forgive me hears, 

Henceforth I'll love you dearly. 160 



=11 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



My father he is now from home, 

And I am all alone, sir : 
Therefore a-cross the water come ; 

And I am all your own, sir. 

False maid, thou canst no more deceive ; 165 

I scorn the treacherous bait-a : 
If thou would'st have me thee believe, 

Now open me the gate-a. 

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, 

My father he has the keys, sir j 170 



But I hare for my love prepar'd 
A shorter way and easier. 

Over the moate I've laid a plank 
Full seventeen feet in measure ; 

Then step a-cross to the other bank, 
And there we'll take our pleasure. 

These words she had no sooner spoke, 
But strait he came tripping over : 

The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke; 
And sous'd the unhappy lover. 



17? 



175 



180 






XVI. 



WHY SO PALE J 



From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This sprightly 
knight was born in 1 613, and cut off by a fever about 
the 29th year of his age. See above, Song IX. of 
this book. 

Why so pale and wan. fond lover? 

Prethee, why so pale? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail? 

Prethee why so palo ! 6 



Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prethee why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing doe't ? 

Prethee why so mute? 10 

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love 

Nothing can make her. 

The devil take her! i;, 



XVII. 
OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



MAO 60NO THE FIRST 



It is worth attention, that the English have more 
songs and ballads on the subject of madness, than 
any of their neighbours. Whether there be any 
truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to 
this calamity thaa other nations, or that our native 
gloominess hath peculiarly recommended subjects of 
this cast to our writers; we certainly do not 
find the same in the printed collections of French, 
Italian Songs, &c. 

Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected 
half a dozen •' Mad Songs" for this work. The 
three first are originals in their respective kinds ; 
the merit of the three last is chiefly that of imitation. 
They were written at considerable intervals of time ; 
but we have here grouped them together, that the 
reader may the better examine their comparative 
merits. He may consider them as so many trials of 
skill in a very peculiar subject, as the contest of so 
many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. The 
two first were probably written about the beginning 
of the last century j the third about the middle of it ; 
the fourth and sixth towards the end ; and the fifth 
within the eighteenth centurv. 

This is given from the I&itor's folio MS. com- 
pared with two or three old printed copies. — With 
regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in Walton's 
Complete Angler, cap. 3. is a song in praise of 



•^Imgi which the author says was made at his re- 

auest "by Mr. William Basse, one that has made 
le choice songs of the ' Hunter in his Career,' and 
of 'Tom of Bedlam/and many others of note," p. 8-i. 
See Sir John Hawkins's curious edition. 8vo. o 
that excellent old book. 

Forto from my sad and darksome cell*, 
Or from the deepe abysse of hell, 
Mad Tom is come into the world againe 
To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 

Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys boule ! 
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd 
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam niadd. 

Through the world 1 wander night and day 
To seeke my straggling senses. 10 

In an angry moode I mett old Tune, 
With his pentarchye of tenses : 

When me he spyed, 

Away he lived, 
For time will stay for no man : 15 

In vaine with cryes 

I reut the skytu, 
For pity is not common. 



i- 



17* 



THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 



Cold and comfortless I lye : 

Helpe, oh helpo ! or else I dye ( 
Harke ! I heexe Apollo's teame, 

The carman 'gins to whistle ; 
Chast Diana bends her bowe, 

The boare begins to bristle. 

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 
To knocke off my troublesome shackles ; 
Bid Charles make ready his wsine 
To fetch me my senses againe. 

Last night I heard the dog-star bark ; 
Mars met Venus in the darke ; 
Limping Vulcan bet an iron barr, 
And ruriouslye made at the god of war : 

Mars with his weapon laid about, 
But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 
For bis broad horns did so hang in his light, 
lie could not see to aim his blow es aright : 



20 



S3 



90 



35 



Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven, 
Stood still to see the quarrell ; 

Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, grant-like, 
Bestryd a strong-beere barrell. 

To mee he dranke, 

I did him thanke, 
But I could get no cyder ; 

He dranke whole butts 

Till he burst his gutts, 
But mine were ne'er the wyder. 

Poore naked Tom is very drye : 
A little drinke for charitye ! 
Harke, I bear Acteon's borne ! 

The huntsmen whoop and ballowe : 
Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler, 

All the chase do followe. 

The man in the maone drinkes clorret, 
Eates powder'd beef, turnip, and carret, 
But a cup of old Malaga sack 
Will fire the bushe at his backe. 



40 



i ■ 



45 I 



, i 



50 



ImS 



XVIII. 
THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 



MAO BONO THE SECOND, 



I 



> i 



was written about the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century by the witty bishop Corbet, and is 
printed from the third edition of his poems, 12mo. 
1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. 

Am I mad, O noble Festus, 
When zeal and godly knowledge 
Have put me in hope 
To deal with the pope, 
As well as the best m the college ? 5 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 

Mitres, copes, and rochets ; 
Come bear me pray nine times a day. 
And fill your heads with crochets. 



In the bouse of pure Emanuel * 
I had my education, 

Where my friends surmise 

1 dazel'd my eyes 
With the siglit of revelation. 
Boldly I preach, &c 

They bound me like a bedlam, 
They lash'd my four poor quarters ; 

Whilst this 1 endure, 

Faith makes me sure 
To be one of Foxes martyrs. 
Boldly I preach, &c 

These injuries I suffer 

Through antichrist's perswasion : 
Take off this chain, 
Neither Rome nor Spain 

Can resist my strong invasion. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 



10 



15 



SO 



| Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us ') 
I have knock'd off three already ; 
If they let me alone 
I'll leave him none : 
But they say I am too heady. 
Boldly 1 preach, &c« 



When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city, 
1 met the great red dragon ; 

I kept him aloof 

With the armour of proof, 
Though here I have never a rag on. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

W T ith a fiery sword and target, 
There fought I with this monster : 

But the sons of pride 

My seal deride. 
And all my deeds misconster. 
Boldly I preach, &c 

I un-kws'd the Whore of Babel, 
With the lance of Inspiration ; 

I made her stink, 

And spill the drink 
In her cup of abomination. 
Boldly I preach, &c 

I have seen two in a vision 

With a flying book* between them. 



tb 



SO 



.15 



40 



1 1 



45 



• Emanuel College, Cambridge, was originally a acini* 
nary of Puritans 



• Alluding to §ome visionary exposiiion of Zech. ch. v. 
ver. 1 ; or, If the date of iMs aong would permit, one might 
suppose it aimed at one Coppe, a strange enthusiast, who* 
lifemay be seen In Wood's Athen. -«ol. II, p. 501. He was 
author of a book, inthled, "The Fiery Flying Roll:" and 
afterwards published a Recantation, part of whose title i* 
"The Fiery Flying Roll's Wings clipt/'&c 



THL LUNATIC LOVER. 



I have been in despair 
Fire times in a year, 
And been cur'd by reading Greenham*. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I observ'd in Perkin's tables t 
The black line of damnation ; 

Those crooked veins 

So stuck in my brains, 
That I fear'd my reprobation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

In the holy tongue of Canaan 
I plac'd my chiefest pleasure : 



50 



55 



Till I prick'd my foot 
With an Hebrew root, 
That I bled beyond all measure. 
Boldly 1 preach, &c 



60 



I appear'd before the archbishop *, 
And all the high commission ; 
I gave him no grace, 
But told him to his face, 
That he favour'd superstition. 

Boldly I preach, nate a cross, hate a surplice, 

Mitres, copes, and rochets : 66 

Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets. 



XIX. 



THE LUNATIC LOVER, 

MAD SONG THK TIf IKD, 



is given from an old printed copy in the British 

Museum, compered with another in the Pepys col* 
lection ; both in black letter. 

Grim king of the ghosts, make haste. 

And bring hither all your train ; 
See how the pale moon does waste, 

And just now is in the wane. 
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms, 5 

And revelling witches away. 
And hug me close in your arms J 

To you my respects 111 pay. 

I'll court you, and think you fair, 

Since love does distract my brain : 10 

111 go, I'll wedd the night-mare, 

And kiss her, and kiss her again : 
But if she prove peevish and proud, 

Then, a pise on her love ! let her go ; 
111 seek me a winding shroud, 15 

And down to the shades below. 

A lunacy sad I endure, 

Since reason departs away ; 
I call to those hags for a cure. 

As knowing not what I say. 20 

The beauty, whom I do adore, 

Now slights me with scorn and disdain ; 
I never shall see ber more : 

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain ! 

I ramble, and range about 25 

To find out my charming saiqt ; 
While aha at my grief does flout, 

And smiles at my loud complaint. 



• See Grrenham'f Works, foL 1003, particularly the tract 
iatltled ** A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience." 

t See Perkins's Works, fuL 1616, vol. I, p. 11 ; where U 
a Urge half facet folded, containing. " A survey, or table, 
declaring the order of the causes of salvation and damnation, 
ftc" the uedigree of damnation being distinguished by a 
broad black tig-sag line. 



Distraction I see is my doom, 

Of this I am now too sure ; 30 

A rival is got in my room, 

While torments I do endure. 

Strange fancies do fill my head, 

While wandering in despair, 
I am to the deserts lead, 55 

Expecting to find her there. 
Methinks in a spangled cloud 

I see her enthroned on high ; 
Then to her I crie aloud, 

And labour to reach the sky. 40 

When thus I have raved awhile, 

And wearyed myself in vain, 
I lye on the Darren soil, 

And bitterly do complain. 
Till slumber hath quieted me, 45 

In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
The clouds are my canopy 

To cover me while I sleep. 

I dream that my charming fair 

Is then in my rival's bed, 50 

Whose tresses of golden hair 

Are on the fair pillow bespread. 
Then this doth my passion inflame, 

I start, and no longer can lie : 
Ah ! Sylvia, art thcAi not to blame 55 

To ruin a lover t I cry. 

Grim king of the ghosts, be true. 

And hurry me hence away, 
My languishing life to you 

A tribute I freely pay. oC 

To the Elysian shades I post 

In hopes to be freed from care. 
Where many a bleedinp ghost 

Is hovering in the air. 

• Abp, Land, 



M S 



«60 



THE DISTRACTED LOVER. 



XX. 

THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE, 



MAD BONO THE FOURTH, 



w 

- was originally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's 

comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694 and 1696 : 
and probably composed by himself. In the several 
stanzas, the author represents his pretty Mad-woman 
as 1. sullenly mad ; 2. mirthfully mad : 3. melan- 
choly mad : 4. fantastically mad : and 5. stark mad. 
Both this and Num. XXII. are printed from D'Urfey's 
" Pills to purge Melancholy/' 1719, vol. 1. 

From rosie bowers, where sleeps the god of lore, 

Hither ye little wanton capias fly ; 
Teach me in soft melodious strains to move 

With tender passion my heart's darling joy : 
Ah ! let the soul of musick tune my voice, 5 

To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. 

Or, if more influencing . 

Is to be brisk and airy, 
With a step and a bound, 
With a frisk from the ground, 

I'll trip like any fairy. 

As once on Ida dancing 

Were three celestial bodies : 
With an air, and a face, 
And a shape, and a grace, 15 

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. 



10 



Ah ! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain ! 
Death and despair must end the fatal pain ; 
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and Jain, 
Falls on my breast ; bleak winds in tempests blow ; 
My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow : £1 

My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, 
And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is 
froze. 



U 



2i 



Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, 
Shall I thaw myself, and drown 

Among the foaming billows T 
Increasing all with tears I shed, 

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows, 
Lay down, lay down my love-sick head Y 



No, no, 111 strait run mad, mad, mad ; 90 

That soon my heart,will warm ; 
When once the sense is fled, is fled. 

Love has no power to charm. 
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, 111 fly, 

Robes, locks shall thus be tore! 35 

A thousand, thousand times 111 dye 

Ere thus, thus in vain,— ere thus in vain adore. 



XXI. 



THE DISTRACTED LOVER, 



MAD BONO THE FIFTH, 



— was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated com- | 
poser of music at the beginning of the eighteenth 
century, end author of several little Theatrical Enter- 
tainments, which the reader may find enumerated in 
the " Companion to the Play-house," ice The 
sightliness of this songster's fancy could not pre- 
serve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which 
was effected by his own hand. In bis Poems, 4to. 
Lond. 1729, may be seen another mad song of this 
author, beginning thus : 

" Gods ? I can never this endure, 
Death alone must be my cure," fit©. 

I oo to the Elysian shade, 

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ; 
Where nothing shall my rest invade, 

But joy shall still surround me. 

I fly from Celia's cold disdain, 5 

From her disdain I fly ; 
She is the cause of all my pain, 

Tor her alone I die. 



Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun. 
When he but half his radiant course has run, 
When his meridian glories gaily shine. 
And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 

See yonder river's flowing tide, 
Which now so full appears ; 

Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 
Are nothing but my tears. 



10 



lb 



There I have wept till I could weep no more, 

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept theii 

store : 
Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main, 
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again. JO 

Pity my pains, 

Ye gentle swains t 
Cover me with ice and snow, 
I scorch, I burn, I flame. I glow I 



L1LLI BURLERO. 



181 



Furies, tear me, 

Quickly bear me 
To the dismal shades below ! 

Where yelling, and howling, 

And grumbling, and growling, 
Strike the ear with horrid woe. 

Hissing snakes, 
Fiery hikes 



25 



30 



Would be a pleasure, and a core : 

Not all the hells, 

Where Pluto dwells, 
Can give such pain as I endure 

To some peaceful plain convey me, 
On a mossey carpet lnv me, 
Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 
Let me die, and so have ease ' 



35 



40 



XXII. 



THE FRANTIC LADY, 

MAD SOKO THE SIXTH. 



This, like Number XX. was originally sung in 
one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don Quixote, (first 
acted about the year 1694) and wan probably com- 
posed by that popular songster, who died Feb. 26, 
1723. 

This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection of 
Songs," 4 vols. 1721, 12mo. where maybe found 
two or three other mad songs not admitted into 
these volumes. 

I burn, my brain consumes to ashes ! 
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes ! 
Within my breast there glows a solid fire. 
Which in a thousand ages can't expire ! 

Blow, blow, the winds* great ruler ! 5 

Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither. 
Tin sultry weather ; 



Pocr them all on my soul, 
It will hiss like a coal, 
But be never the cooler. 



10 



Twas pride hot as hell, 
That first made me rebell, 
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fall j 
And mourn now my fate, 
Which myself did create : 15 

Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well ! 

Adieu ! ye vain transporting joys ! 
Off ye vain fantastic toys ! 
That dress this face — this body — to allure ! 
Bring me daggers, poison, nre ! 20 

Since scorn is turn'd into desire. 
All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I, endure. 



XXIII. 



LILLI BURLERO. 



The following rhymes, slight and insignificant as 
they may now seem, had once a more powerful effect 
than either the Philippics of Demosthenes, or Cicero ; 
and contributed not a little towards the great revolu- 
tion in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer. 

" A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating 
the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous 
manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words, 
* Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on 
the [king's] army, that cannot be imagined by those 
that saw it not The whole army, and at last the 
people, both in city and country, were singing it 
perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a 
thing so great an effect." — Burnet. 

It was written, or at least republished, on the 
Earl of Tyrconnel's going a second time to Ireland 
in October 1688. Perhaps it is unnecessary to 
mention, (hat General Richard Talbot, newly created 
Earl of Tyrconnel, had been nominated by King 
James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on 
account of his being a furious papist, who had 
recommended himself to his bigoted master by his 
arbitrary treatment of the protestants in the pre- 
ceding year, when only lieutenant general, and 



whose subsequent conduct fully justified his ex- 
pectations and their fears. The violence of his 
administration may be seen in any of the histories of 
those times : particularly in Bishop King's " Slate 
of the Protestants in Ireland," 1691, 4to. 

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been 
the words of distinction used among the Irish Pa- 
pists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641. 

Ho ! broder Teague, dost hear de decree ? 

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. 
Dat we shall have a new deputie, 
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. 
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 6 
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. 



Ho ? by shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote : 

Lilli, &c. 
And he will cut de Englishmen's troate. 

Lilli, 6cc 



10 



Ver. 7, Ho by my shoal, aL sd. 



18* 



THE BRAES OV YARROW. 



Dough by my shoal de English do prut, 

Lilli, &e. 
De law's on dare aide, and Creiah knows what. 

Lilli, &c. 

But if dispence do come from de pope, 

Lilli, &c. 
Well hang Magna Charts and dem in a rope. 

Lilli, &c. 

For de good Talbot it made a lord, 

Lilli, &c 
And with brave lads ia coming aboard : 

Lilli, ficc. 

Wbo all in France hare taken a sware, 

Lilli, &c. 
Dat dey will have no protestant heir. 

Lilli, &c 

Ara ! but why does he stay behind ? 

Lilli, ficc. 
Ho ! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind. 

Lilli, &c. 

But Bee de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have commissions gillore. ■ 

Lilli, Sec. 



15 



fO 



S5 



SO 



And he dat will not go to de 

lilli, &c. 
Shall be turn out, and look like ax ass.' 

Lilli, &c 

Now, now de hereticks all go down, 

Lilli, &c 40 

By Chrish and shaint Patrick, de nation's oar own. 

lilli, &c 

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c 
" Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog." 45 

Lilli, oic 

And now dia prophesy is come to pass, 

Lilli, &c. 
For. Talbot's de dog, and Ja** is de ass. 

Lilli, &c 

• # » The foregoing song is attributed to Lord 
Wharton in a small pamphlet, irtitled, " A true re* 
lation of the several facts and circumstances of the 
intended riot and tumult on Queen Klizabeth's birth- 
day, &c." third edition, London, 1712, price 2d. — 
See n. 5, via. " A late Viceroy [of Ireland,] who has 
so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief, 
invention, lying, and for making a certain LiUibur- 
Uro Sang ; with which, if you will believe himself 
he aung a deluded prince out of three kingdoms." 



I 



XXIV. 
THE BRAES OF YARROW, 

IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SOOTS MANNER, 



was written by William Hamilton, of Bangonr, 

Esq. who died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is 
printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, pub- 
lished at Edinburgh, 1760, 12rao. This sons was 
written in imitation of an old Scottish Ballad on a 
similar subject, with the same burden to each stanza. 

A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
And think nae man: on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? 5 
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? 

A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen, 
Puing the birks oa the Braes of Yarrow 



10 



Pumg tne birks oa tne Braes oi x arrow. 

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, 
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive, 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? 

Why does she weep thy winsome marrow ? 
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen 15 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? 

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she 
weep, 

Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow ; 
And lang maun 1 nae mair weil be seen 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 20 



For she has tint her luver, luver dear, 
Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ; 

And I hae slain the comliest swain, 

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid ? 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow ? 
And why yon melancholious weida 

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude ? 

What s yonder floats ? O dule and sorrow ! 
O 'tis he the comely swain I slew 

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 



25 



SO 



Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, 
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow j 

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 55 

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad. 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow; 

And weep around in waeful wise 

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. 4C 

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, 
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that piere'd his breast, 

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow. 



Ver. 43, What follows ** not Id pwne copies. 



ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



183 



Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve 1 45 

And warn from fight ? but to my sorrow 

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm 
Thou mett'st, and fell'at on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows 
the grass. 

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan, 50 

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 

Sweet tbe wave of Yarrow flowan. 

Flows Yarrow sweet t as sweet, as sweet flows 
Tweed, 

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 55 

The apple frae its rock as mellow. 



Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve. 
In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter ; 

Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again 
Than me he never luv'd thee better. 



60 



Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye', and luve me on the banks of Tweed, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. 

C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride ? 

How can 1 busk a winsome marrow ? 
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed, 

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yvrow ? 

O Yarrow fields, may never never rail 
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover. 

For there was basely slain my luve, 
My luve, as he had not been a lover. 

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing: 

Ah ! wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 
He was in these to meet his ruin. 



65 



70 



75 



The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, 

Un heedful of my dule and sorrow : 
But ere the too fa 11 of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 



Much I rejoye'd that waeful waeful day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning : 
But lang ere night the spear was flown, 

That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 



What can my barbarous barbarous father do, 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My luver's blood is on thy spear, 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe me 1 



85 



My happy sisters may be, may be proud 
With cruel and ungentle scoffin', 

May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 
My luver nailed in his coffin. 



90 



My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, 
And strive with threatning words to muve me : 

My luver's blood is on thy spear, 95 

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? 

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 

With bridal sheets my body cover. 
Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 

Let in the expected husband lover. 100 

But who the expected husband husband is ? 

His hands, me thinks, are bath'd in slaughter : 
Ah me ! what ghastly spectre's yon 

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after T 

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, 105 

O lay his cold head on my pillow ; 
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, 

And crown mv careful head with willow* 

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, net best beluv'd. 

O could my warmth to life restore thee! 110 

Yet lye all night between my breists, 

No youth lay ever there before thee. 

Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth ! 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter : 
And lye all night between my bnests ; 115 

No youth shall ever lye there after. 

A. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride, 

Return, and dry thy useless sorrow : 
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, 

J le lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow. 120 



XXV. 
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



a Party Song written by the ingenious 
author of " Leonidas"*, on the taking of Porto Bello 
from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. i2, 
1739. — The case of Hosier, which is here so pathe- 
tically represented, was briefly this. In April 17*6, 
that commander was sent with a strong fleet into the 
Spanish West-Indies, to block up the galleons in 
the ports of that country, or, should they presume to 
come out, to seize and carry them into England : he 



.. t* u n .. ,n .^ Bl .° , l 8 correspondent inform* tbe Editor, that 
thii Ballad haUi b#ea also attributed to the late l,ord Bath. 



accordingly arrived at the Bastiroentos near Porto 
Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to 
attack the Spaniards, with whom it was probably 
not our interest to go to war, he continued long in* 
active on -that station, to his own great regret. He 
afterwards removed to Carthagena, and remained 
cruizing in these seas, till far the greater pert of his 
men perished deplorably by the diseases of that un- 
healthy climate. This brave man, seeing his best 
officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships 
exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made 
the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a 



1«4 



ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GH08T. 



broken heart. Such is the account of Smollett, com- 
pared with that of other leas partial writers. 

The following song; is commonly accompanied 
with a Second Part, or Answer, which being of in- 
ferior merit, and apparently written by another 
hand, hath been rejected. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

00 the gently swelling flood, 
At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant nayy rode ; 
There while Vernon sate all-glorious 5 

From the Spaniards' late defeat : 
And his crews, with shouts victorious, 

Drank success to England's fleet : 

On a sudden shrilly sounding, 

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 10 

Then each heart with fear confounding, 

A sad troop of ghosts appear'd. 
All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 

Which for winding-sheets they wore. 
And with looks by sorrow clouded 15 

Frowning on that hostile shore. 

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When the shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster 

Rising from their watery grave. 20 

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him, 

Where the Burford • rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand ghosts beside him, 

And in groans did Vernon hail. 

Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 

1 am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
You who now have purchas'd glory 

At this place where I was lost ! 
Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin 

You now triumph free from fears, 30 

When you think on our undoing, 

You will mix your joy with tears. 

See these mournful spectres sweeping 

Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 35 

These were English captains brave. 
Mark those numbers pale and horrid. 

Those were once my sailors bold : 
Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead. 

While his dismal tale is told. 40 

• Admiral Yemen's ship. 



I, by twenty sail attended, 

Did this Spanish town affright t 
Nothing then its wealth defended 

But my orders not to fight. 
Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 

I had cast them with disdain, 
And obey'd my heart's warm motion 

To hare quell'd the pride of Spain ! 

For resistance I could fear none, 

But with twenty ships had done 
What thou, brave and nappy Vernon, 

Hast atchiev'd with six alone* 
Then the baatimentos never 

Had our foul dishonour seen, 
Nor the sea the sad receiver 

Of this gallant train had been* 

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 

And her galleons leading home, 
Though condemn'd for disobeying, 

I had met a traitor's doom, 
To have fallen, my country crying 

He hasplay'd an English part, 
Had been better far than dying 

Of a griev'd and broken heart. 

Unrepining at thy glory, 

Thy successful arms we hail ; 
But remember our sad story, 

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
Sent in this foul clime to languish, 

Think what thousands fell m vain, 
Wasted with disease and anguish, 

Not in glorious battle slain. 

Hence with all my train attending 

From their oozy tombs below, 
Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 

Here I feed my constant woe i 
Here the baatimentos viewing, 

We recal our shameful doom, 
And our plaintive cries renewing, 

Wander thro' the midnight gloom. 

O'er these waves for ever mourning 

Shall we roam depriv'd of rest, 
If to Britain's shores returning 

You neglect my just request ; 
After this proud foe subduing, 

When your patriot friends you see, 
Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

And for England sham'd in me* 



45 



50 



55 



60 



6b 



70 



7b 



80 



85 



- JEMMY DAWSON. 



186 



XXVI. 
JEMMY DAWSON. 



James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels, 
who was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kenning- 
ton-common, in the county of Surrey, July 50, 1746. 
This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which 
was reported to have happened at his execution. It 
was written by the late William Shenstone, Esq. 
soon after the event, and has been printed amongst 
his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given 
from a MS. which contained some small variations 
from that printed copy. 

Come listen to my mournful tale, 

Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear ; 
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, 

Nor will you blush to shed a tear. 

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, 5 

Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
For thou canst weep at every woe, 

And pity every plaint, but mine. 

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, 

A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 

And well be lov'd one charming maid, 

And dearly was he lov'd again. 

One tender maid she lov'd him dear. 

Of gentle blood the damsel came, 
And faultless was her beauteous form, 15 

And spotless was her virgin fame. 

But curse on party's hateful strife, 

That led the faithful youth astray 
The day the rebel clans appear'd : 

O had he never seen that day ! SO 

Their colours and their sash he wore, 

And in the fatal dress was found j 
And now he must that death endure, 

Which gives the brave the keenest wound. 

Now pale was then his true love's cheek 25 

* When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! 
For never yet did Alpine snows 
So pale, nor yet so chill appear. 

With faltering voice she weeping said. 

Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart, SO 

Tli ink not thy death shall end our loves, 
For thou and I will never part. 

Yet might sweet mercy find a place, 
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, 

O George, without a prayer for thee 35 

My orisons should never close. 



The gracious prince that gives him life 
Would crown a never-dying flame, 

And every tender babe 1 bore 

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. 



40 



But though, dear youth, thou should'stbe dragg'd 

To yonder ignominious tree, 
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend 

To share thy bitter fate with thee, 

O then her mourning-coach was call'd, 45 

The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; 
Tho' borne in a triumphal car. 

She had not lov'd her favourite more* 
« 
She followed him, prepar'd to view 

The terrible behests of law ; 50 

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes 

With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 

Distorted was that blooming face, 
Which she had fondly lov'd so long : 

And stifled was that tuneful breath, 55 

Which in her praise had sweetly sung : 

And sever*d was that beauteous neck, 

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd : 

And mangled was that beauteous breast, 
On which her love-sick head repoa'd: 

And ravish'd was that constant heart, 

She did to every heart prefer ; 
For though it could his king forget, 

'Twas true and loyal still to her. 

Amid those unrelenting flames 65 

She bore this constant heart to see ; 

But when 'twas moulderM into dust, 
Now, now, she cried, 111 follow thee. 



60 



70 



My death, my death alone can show 
The pure and lasting love I bore : 

Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, 
And let us, let us weep no more* 

The dismal scene was o'er and past, 
The lover's mournful hearse retirM ; 

The maid drew back her languid head, 
And sighing forth his name expired. 



Tho' justice ever must prevail, 

The tear my Kitty sheds is due; 
For seldom shall she hear a tale 

So sad, so tender, and so true. 80 



TUB WO Or THE THIRD BOOS. 



186 



POEMS ON KING ARTHUR. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 



BOOK I. 



An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such 
readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason 
is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader will appear 
beautiful to the most refined. 

Addison, in Spectator, No. 70. 

I. 
POEMS ON KING ARTHUR, &c. 



The third series being chiefly devoted to romantic 
subjects, may not be improperly introduced with a 
tew slight strictures on the old' metrical romances : 
a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not 
to have been known to such as have written on the 
nature and origin of books of chivalry, that the first 
compositions of this kind were in verse, and usually 
sung to the harp. 

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL 
ROMANCES, &o 

I. The first attempts at compositUran among 1 all 
barbarous nations are ever found to be poetrv and 
song. The praises of their gods, and the achieve- 
ments of their heroes, are usually chanted at their 
festival meetings. Tim? we the first rudimszts af 
history. It is in this m inner that the savigit )f 
North America preserve the memory of past er*i \4 • 
and the same method is known to have prevailed 
among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted 
their German forests t. The ancient Britons had 
their bards, and the Gothic nations their scalds or 
popular poets f, whose business it was to record the 
victories of their warriors, and the genealogies of 
their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which 
were committed to memory, and delivered down 
from one reciter to another. So long as poetry con- 
tinued a distinct profession, and while tne bard, or 
scald, was a regular and stated officer in the prince's 
court, these men are thought to have performed the 
functions of the historian pretty faithfully ; for 
though their narrations would be apt to receive a 
good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to 
have had at the bottom so much of truth as to serve 
for the basis of more regular annals. At least suc- 
ceeding historians have taken up with the relations 
of these rude men, and, for want of more authentic 
records, have agreed to allow them the credit of true 
history $• 

* Vid. Lasiteau Afaurs des Sanvagc:, t. ii. Dr. Browne's 
Hist, of the Rise and Progress of Poetry. 

t German i celebrant cai minibus antiqnls (qnod unura 
apod iUos memoriae et annalium genus est) Tuistonem, 4cc 
TaclL Germ. e. J. 

t Barth. Antiq. Dan. lib. Leap. 10.— Wormli Literature 
Runica, ad flnem. 

i See " Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the 
Manners, Customs, &c. of the ancient Danes ai»d other 
northern Nations, translated from the Preach ofli Mallet," 
1770, 2 vol. «vo (vol. i. p. -10, &c.j 



After letters began to prevail, and history assumed 
a more stable form, by being committed to plain 
simple prose ; these songs of the scalds or bards 
began to be more amusing than useful. And in 
proportion as it became their business chiefly to 
entertain and delight, they gave more and more into 
embellishment, and set off their recitals with such 
marvellous fictions as were calculated to captivate 
gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of 
adventurers with giants and dragons, and witches 
and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances 
of wild imagination, unguided by judgment and 
uncorrected by art*. This seems to be the true 
origin of that species of romance which so long 
celebrated feats of chivalry, ani which at first in 
metre, and afterwards in pros a, wis the entertain- 
ment of our ancestors, in common with their con- 
temporaries on the Continent, til the satire of 
Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and 
classical literature, drove them off the stage, to 
make room for a more refined species of fiction, 
under the name of French romances, copied from the 
Greek f. 

That our old romances of chivalry may be derived 
in a lineal descent from the ancient historical songs 
of the Gothic bards and scalds, will be shown below, 
and indeed appears the more evident, as many of 
those songs are still preserved in the north, which 
exhibit all the seeds of chivalry before it became a 
solemn institution f. " Chivalry, as a distinct mili- 
tary order, conferred in the way of investiture, and 
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and 
other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out 
of the feudal constitution, as an elegant writer has 
clearly shown $. But the ideas of chivalry prevailed 
long before in all the Gothic nations, and may be 
discovered as in embryo in the customs, manners, 
and opinions of every branch of that people. That 
fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit 
of challenging to single combat, and that respectful 
complaisance shown to the fair sex (so different 
from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), all 
are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the 



* Vid. infra, pp. 4, 5, &c. 
t Vit. Astnea, Casiandra, Clelia, &c 
1 Mallet, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, eVe- 
vol. ii. p. 234, &c. 
$ Letters cuueerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763. 



K 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



18* 



earliest times among all the northern nations*. 
These existed long; before the feudal ages, though 
they were called forth and strengthened in a peculiar 
manner under that constitution, and at length arrived 
to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades, 
so replete with romantic adventures f. 

Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance 
were (as is hinted above) most of them familiar to 
the ancient scalds of the north, long before the time 
of the crusades. They- believed the existence of 
giants and dwarfs t > they entertained opinions not 
unlike the more modern notion of fairies $ ; they 
were strongly possessed with the belief of spells and 
enchantment || ; and were fond of inventing combats 
with dragons and monsters^. 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, 
which some learned and ingenious men have enter- 
tained, that the turn for chivalry, and the taste for 
that species of romantic fiction were caught by the 
Spaniards from the Arabians or Moors after their 
invasion of Spain, and from the Spaniards trans- 
mitted to the bards of Armories**, and thus diffused 

♦ Mallet. 

t The seeds of chivalty sprang op so naturally ont of the 
original manners and opinions of the northern nations, that 
it is not credible they arose so late as after the establishment 
of the feudal system, mnch less the crusades. Nor again, that 
the romances of chivalry were transmitted to other nations, 
through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had 
this been the case, the first French Romances of chivalry 
would have been on Moorish or at least Spanish subjects : 
whereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose 
or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, Ac are chiefly 
on the subjects of Charlemagne, and the Paladins ; or of our 
British Arthur, and his knights of the Round Table, Ac. being 
evidently burrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the snp- 
po*«d Archbishop Turpin, and of Jefft-ry of Monmouth. Not 
but some of the oldest and most popular French romances are 
al«o on Norman subjects, as /{(chard San+peur, Robert Le 
Diahfe, &c ; whereas 1 do not recollect so much as one In 
which the scene is bid in Spain, much lets among the Moors, 
or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Atnadie de 
Gaul, said to have been the first romance printed in Spain, 
th« scene is laid in Gaul and Britain ; and the manners are 
French : which plainly shews from what school this species 
of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern nations of 
Eiirou*. 

| Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. 1. p. 30; voL ii. passim. 

5 OUns Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickcs's 
Thcsanr. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Autiquities, vol. II. passim. 

Ibid. vol. i. pp. G9, 874, &c. vol. ii. p. 210, &c 

*T Kollofs Sap. cap. 3d, && 

♦•It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this 
opinion are obliged to take their first step from the Moorish 
provinces in Spain, without one intermediate resting-place, to 
Annorica or Bretagnc, the province in France from them 
most remote, not more in situation than in the manners, 
habits, and language of its Welch inhabitants, which are 
allowed to have been derived from this island, as niunt have 
been their traditions, songs, and fables ; being doubtlers all 
of Celtic original. See p. 3. of the " Dissertation on the 
Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr. 
Thos. Warton's History of English Poetry. *„.. i. 1774, 4to. 
If any pen could have supported this dailing hypothesis of 
Dr. War burton, that of this ingenious critic wonld have 
effected it. But under the general term Oriental he seems 
to consider the ancient inhabitants of the north and south of 
Asia as having all the same manners, tradition*, and fables ; 
and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under 
the religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore every thine 
must be derived from them to the northern Asiatics in the 
remotest ages, Ac. With as much reason undet the word 
Occidental, we might represent the eaily traditions and 
fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the 
same; and that the Gothic mythology of Scandinavia the 
the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not from 
the classic of Greece and Rome. 

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter 
arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which our agree- 
able dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this 
favourite opinion of Dr. W. who has been himself so cora- 



through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the 
north. For it seems utterly incredible that one rude 
people should adopt a peculiar taste and manner of 
writing or thinking from another, without borrowing 
at the same time any of their particular stories and 
fables, without appearing to know any thing of their 
heroes, history, laws, and religion. When the Ro- 
mans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian litera- 
ture, they immediately naturalized all the Grecian 
fables, histories, and religious stories ; which be- 
came as familiar to the poets of Rome as of Greece 
itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and 
of that species of romance, whether in prose or 
verse, whether of the northern nations, or of Britain, 
France, and Italy, not excepting Spain itself*, 
appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates 
to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to 
their religion, they constantly represent them as 
worshiping idols, as paying adoration to a golden 
image of Mahomet, or else they confound them with 
the ancient Pagans, &c. And indeed, in all other 
respects they are so grossly ignorant of the customs, 
manners, and opinions of every branch of that peo- 
ple, especially of their heroes, champions, and local 
stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that 
they did not imitate them in their songs or romances : 
for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c. why 
should these be thought only derived from the 
Moors in Spain so late as after the eighth century ? 
since notions of this kind appear too familiar to the 
northern scalds, and enter too deeply into all the 
northern mythology, to have been transmitted to the 
unlettered Scandinavians, from so distant a country, 

pletely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt (See his notes on" Love's 
Labour Lost," Ac.) But some of his positions it will be 
sufficient to mention: such as the referring the Gog and 
Magog, which onr old Christian bards might have had from 
Scripture, to the Jagulouge and Mayiouge of the Arabians 
and Persians, &c. (p. 13.) -That " we may venture to affirm, 
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to 
contain the ideas ot the Welch bards, entirely consists ot 
Arabian Inventions." (p 13.) — And that, "as Geoffrej's 
History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a 
fabulous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the ground- work ot 
all the chimerical legends which nave been related concern 
ing the conquests of Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its 
subject is the expulsion of the Saracens from Spain ; and it 
Is filled with fictions evidently congenial to those which cha- 
racterise Geoffrey's History." (p. J7.)— That is, as be after 
wards expresses it. " lavishly decorated by the Arabian 
fablers." (p. 58.)— We should hardly have expected that the 
Arabian fablers would have been lavish in decorating a his- 
tory of their enemy ; but what is singular, as an instance and 
proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of Turpin, a pas- 
sage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beg leave 
to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not 
possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc " The 
Christians nndcr Charlemagne arc said to have found in 
Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, as high as a bird 
can fly. — It was framed by Mahomet himself of the purest 
metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed 
up within it a legion of diabolical spirits. It held in its banc 
a prodigious club; and the Saracens had a prophetic tradi- 
tion, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in 
that year when a certain king should be born in France, &c 
Yid. p. 19, Note. 

* The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which 
the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and 
which they call peculiai ly romance*, (sec Series I. Book iii. 
No. 10, Sic.) have nothing in common with their proper 
romances (or histories)of chivalry ; which they call Hittoria* 
de Cavalleriae : these are evidently imitations of the French, 
and shew a great ignorance of Moorish manners : and with 
regard to the Morisco, or eong-romancee, they do not seem 
of very great antiquity : few of them appear, from their 
subjects, much earlier than the reduction <rf Granada, in the 
fifteenth century: from which period, I believe, may be 
plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect 
knowledge of Moorish customs, &c. 



»* 



J8* 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



at so late a period. If they may not be allowed to 
bare brought these opinions with them in their 
original migrations from the north of Asia, they 
will be far more likely to have borrowed them from 
the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul, 
Britain, Germany, etc. For I believe one may 
challenge the maintamers of this opinion to produce 
any Arabian poem or history, that could possibly 
have been then known in Spain, which resembles the 
old Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the 
Metamorphoses of Ovid. 

But we well know that the Scythian nations situate 
in the countries about Pontus, Colchis, and the 
Euxine sea, were in all times infamous for their 
magic arts ; and as Odin and his followers are said 
to have come precisely from those parts of Asia, we 
can readily account for the prevalence of fictions of 
this sort among the Gothic nations of the north, 
without fetching them from the Moors in Spain, 
who for many centuries after their irruption lived in 
a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued 
Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in 
the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning 
their music, poetry, or stories ; and this, together 
with the religious hatred of the latter for their cruel 
invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of the 
old Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the 
Mahometan nations, although so nearly their own 
neighbours. 

On the other hand, from the local customs and sit- 
uations, from the known manners and opinions of 
the Gothic nations in the North, we can easily ac- 
count for all the ideas of chivalry, and its peculiar 
fictions*. For, not to mention their distinguished 
respect for the fair sex, bo different from the man- 
ners of the Mahometan nations t, their national and 
domestic history so naturally assumes all the won- 
ders of this species of fabling, that almost all their 
historical narratives appear regular romances. One 
might refer, in proof of this, to the old northern 
Sagas in general : but, to give a particular instance, 
it will be sufficient to produce the history of King 
Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, 
who reigned in Denmark about the veer 800$. This 
hero signalized bis youth by an exploit of gallantry. 
A Swedish prince had a. beautiful daughter, whom 
he intrusted (probably during some expedition) to 
the care of one of his officers, assigning a strong 
castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with 
his ward, and detained her in his castle, spite of all 
the efforts of her father. Upon this he published a 
proclamation, through all the neighbouring coun- 
tries, that whoever would conquer the ravisher, and 
rescue the lady, should have her in marriage. Of all 
that undertook the adventure, Regner alone was so 
happy as to achieve it ; he delivered the fair captive, 
and obtained her for his prize. It happened that 
the name of this discourteous officer was Orme, 
which, in the Islandic language signifies serpent : 
wherefore the scalds, to give the more poetical turn 
to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from 
her father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner 
slew the monster to set her at liberty. This fabulous 
account of the exploit is given in a poem still ex- 
tant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who 



* See Northern Antiquities, passim, 
t Ibid. 

X Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.— Mallet, North. Aniiq. vol. i. 
p. 321. 



was a celebrated poet, and which records all the 
valiant achievements of his life •• 

With marvellous embellishments of this kind, the 
scalds early began to decorate their narratives : and 
they were the more lavish of these in proportion as 
they departed from their original institution ; but it 
was a long time before tbey thought of deliver- 
ing a set of personages and adventures wholly- 
feigned. Of the great multitude of romantic tales 
still preserved in the libraries of the north, most 
of them are supposed to have had some foun- 
dation in truth ; and the more ancient they are, 
the more they are believed to be connected with true 
historyf. 

It was not probably till after the historian and the 
bard had been long disunited, that the latter ven- 
tured at pure fiction, At length, when their busi- 
ness was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely 
to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to ad- 
here to truth. Then succeeded fabulous songs and 
romances in verse, which for a long time prevailed 
in France and England, before tbey had books of 
chivalry in prose. Yet, in both these countries, the 
minstrels still retained so much of their original 
institution as frequently to make true events the 
subject of their songs J; and, indeed, as during the 
barbarous ages, the regular histories were almost all 
written in Latin by the monks, the memcry of events 
was preserved • and propagated among the ignorant 
laity, by scarce any other means than the popular 
songs of the minstrels. 

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and 
Norway, being the latest converts to Christianity, 
retained their original manners and opinions longer 
than the other nations . of Gothic race : and, there- 
fore, they hare preserved more of the genuine com- 
positions of their ancient poets than their southern 
neighbours. Hence the progress among them, from 
poetical history to poetical fiction, is very discern- 
ible: they have some old pieces, that are in effect 
complete romances of chivalry 6. They have alsu 
(as hath been observed) a multitude of sagas jj, oi 
histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture 
of prose and verse of various dates, some of them 
written since the times of the crusades, others long 
before ; but their narratives in verao only are es- 
teemed the more ancient. 

Now, as the irruption of the Normans^ into 
France under Rollo did not take place till towards 
the beginning of the tenth century, at which time 
the ScaJdic art was arrived to the highest perfection 
in Hollo's native country, we can easily trace the 
descent of the French and English romances of chi- 
valry from the northern sagas. That conqueror 
doubtless carried many scalds with him from the 
north, who transmitted their skill to their children 
and successors. These, adopting the religion, opi- 
nions, and language of the new country, substituted 



* See a Translation of this poem among "Five Pieces of 
Runic Poetry," printed for Dodsley, ir04, 8vo. 

t Vid. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. 

X The Editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this 
latter kind. It was probably from this custonfof the min- 
strels that some of our first historians wrote their cJuoniclcs 
in verse, as Robert of Gloucester, Harding, &c. 

$ See a specimen in 2d. vul. of Northern Antiquities, he 
p. 818, Ac 

|| Kccardi Hist. Stnd. Etyra. 1711, p. 170, &c Hickct's 
tbesanr, vol. ii, p. 314. 

% i. e. Northern Men : being chiefly emigrants from Nor- 
way, Denmark, &c 



— r 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, ficc. 



189 



the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their 
pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of 
Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver; whose true his- 
tory they set off and embellished with the scaldic 
figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchant- 
ments. The first mention we have in song of those 
heroes of chivalry, is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior at the conquest of England* ; and this cir- 
cumstance alone would sufficiently account for the 
propagation of this kind of romantic poems among 
the French and English. 

But this is not all ; it is very certain that both 
the Anglo-Saxons and the Franks had brought with 
them, at their first emigrations into Britain and 
Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient songs of 
their ancestors, which prevailed among the other 
Gothic tribes f, and that all their first annals were 
transmitted in these popular oral poems. This fond- 
ness they even retained long after their conversion 
to Christianity, as we learn from the examples of 
Charlemagne and Alfred^. Now poetry, being thus 
the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn to 
blend them with fictioi s in France and England, as 
she is known to have done in the north, and that 
much sooner, for the reasons before assigned^. This 
together with the example and influence of the Nor- 
mans, will easily account to us why the- first roman- 
ces of chivalry that appeared both in England and 
France || were composed in metre as a rude kind of 
epic songs. In both kingdoms, tales in verse were 
usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival oc- 
casions : and doubtless, both nations derived their 
relish for this sort of entertainment from their Teu- ' 
tonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it 
from the other. Among both people, narrative songs, 
on true or fictitious subjects had evidently obtained 
from the earliest times. But the professea romances 
of chivalry seem to have been first composed in 
France, where also they had their name. 

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious 
writer^, ceased to be spoken in France about the 
ninth century, and was succeeded by what was called j 
the romance tongue, a mixture of the language of the 
Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry 
became the most popular compositions in that lan- 
guage, they were emphatically called Romans or 
Ramants ; though this name was at first given to any 
piece of poetry. The romances of chivalry can be 



See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note. 

t Ipsa cartnina memoriae iuanriabaut, et praelia Inituri 
decantabant : qua memuria tam foriium gestorutn a majori- 
but patratornin ad lmititionem aniiutu addcretur. Jornan- 
des de Got his. 

X E<inhartos de Carolo magno. " Item barbara, et anli- 
qtmsima Carolina, quibus veleruin reguin actus et bella cane- 
bantur, scripsil." c. 29. 

A*serius de JElfredo magno. - Rex inter bella, &c 

Saxouicos libros reciure, el maxime carmina Saxoaica me- 
uioriter discere, aiiis imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus, 
stiidi<*i»*ime uou deMiicbat." Ed. 17x2, 8vo, p. 43. 

$ See above, pp. Ib4), 188, &c. 

II The romances on the > object of Perceval, San Graal, 
Lancelot du Lac, Tristan, &c. were among the first that ap- 
peared in the French language in prose, >el these were ori- 
ginally composed in metre : The Lditor has in his possession 
a very old French MS. in verse, containing L'ancien Raman 
de Perceval i and metrical copies of the others may be 
found in the libraries of the curious. See a note of Wan ley's 
in Harl. Catalog. No. 2232, p. 49, &c. jrficolson's Eng. 
Hist. Library, 3d. Ed. p. Hi, &c— See also a curious collec- 
tion cfold Fiench romancer, with Mr. Wanley's accouut of 
this sort of pieces, In Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 

U The Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 2S2, 



traced as early as the eleventh century*. I know 
not if the Raman de Brut, written in 1 1 55, was such : 
But if it was, it was by no means the first poem of 
the kind ; others more ancient are still extantf. And 
we have already seen, that, in the preceding century, 
when the Normans marched down to the battle of 
Hastings, they animated themselves, by singing (in 
some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of 
Roland and the other heroes of chivalry f. 

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry 
in English. The most ancient I have seen is that 
of Hornechild, described below, which seems not 
older than the twelfth century. However, as tliU 
rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, 
it is not certain that the first English romances were 
translated from that language^. We have seen 
above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction pre 
vailed among all the Gothic nations ||; and though, 
after the Norman conquest, this country abounded 
with French romances, or with translations from the 
French, there is good reason to believe that the 
English had original pieces of their own. 

7 he stories of King Arthur and his Round-Table 
may be reasonably supposed of the growth of this 
island ; both tho French and the Armoricans probably 
had them from Britain^. The stories of Guy and 
Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention 
of English minstrels* 9 . On the other hand, the 
English procured translations of such romances as 
were most current in France : and in the list given 
at the conclusion of these remarks many are doubt- 
less of French original. 

The first prose books of chivalry that appeared in 
our language were those printed by Caxtonff; at least, 



• Ibid. p. 283. Hfst Lit. torn, vi, vii. 
t Voi Preface aux *' Fablianx et Contcs des Poetes Fran- 
cois " des xii, xiii, xiv, et xv. sieclcs, &c Paris, 1750, 3 
torn. 1'inio." (a very curious work). 

X See the account of Taillefer in Essay, and Note. 
And see Rapin, Carte, &c — This song of Roland (whatever 
it was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by 
the French in their marches, if we may believe a mraiern 
French writer. " Un jour qn'on chantoitla Chanson de Ro- 
land, com me e'etoit l'usage dans les marches. II y a long 
temps, dit il [John K. of France, who died in 1304], qu'on 
ne volt plus de Rolands, par mi les Francois. On y verroit 
encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vleux Capitaine, s'ils 
avoient un Charlemagne a lenr I etc." Vid. torn, iii, p. 202, 
des Ernies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives, 
as his authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorwn. This author, 
however, speaks of the complaint and repartee as made in 
an assembly of the states (vocato tenatu), and not upon 
any march, &c Vid. Boetfai. lib. xv, fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 
1674. 
$ See, on this subject, Notes on the Essay on the An- 
cient Minstrels, (s 2.) and (c o). 

H The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were 
in metre: they have some very ancient narrative songs 
(which they caU Lieder) not only on the fabulous heroes of 
their own country, but also on those of France and Britain, 
as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von derTqfel 
ronde. Vid. Goldasti Not in Eginhart. Vit. Car. Mag. 4 to, 
1711, p. 407. 

IT The Welsh have still some very old romances about King 
Arthur; but as these are in prose, they are not probably 
their first pieces that were composed on that subject. 

•• It is most credible that these stories were originally of 
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should 
be found to be translations from the French. What now 
pass for the French-originals were probably only amplifica- 
tions, or enlargements of the old English story. That the 
French romancers borrowed some things from the English, 
appears from the word Termagant, which they took up from 
our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunte. See p. 19, 
and Uloss. " Termagaunt." 

tr Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfryeof 
Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 1485. The Life of 
Charlemagne, 1485, &c As the old minstrelsy wore oat. 



i9i) 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c 



I 






these are the first I have been able to discover, and 
these are all translations from the French. Whereas 
romances of this kind had been long current in metre, 
and were so generally admired in the timo of Chaucer, 
that his rhyme of Sir Thopas was evidently written 
to ridicule and burlesque them 9 . 

He expressly mentions several of them by name 
in a stanza, which I shall have occasion to quote 
more than once in this volume : 

Men speken of romaunces of pris 
Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis 

Of Be via, and Sire Guy 
Of Sire Libeui, and Pleindamour, 
But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 

Of real chevalriet* 

Most if not all of these are still extant in MS. in 
some or other of our libraries, as I shall shew in the 
conclusion of this slight essay, where I shall give a 
list of such metrical histories and romances as have 
fallen under my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable portion 
of poetic merit, and throw great light on the manners 
ana opinions of former times, it were to be wished 
that some of the best of them were rescued from 
oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately 
published, with proper illustrations, would be an 
important accession to our stock of ancient English 
literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts 
at epic poetry : and though full of the exploded 
fictions of chivalry, frequently display mat descrip- 
tive and inventive powers in the bards who com- 
posed them. They are at least generally equal to 
any other poetry ot the same age. They cannot in- 
deed be put in competition with the nervous pro- 
ductions of so universal and commanding a genius as 
Chaucer ; but they have a simplicity that makes 
them be read with less interruption, and be more 
easily understood ; and they are far more spirited and 
entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower, or 
the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while 
» much stress was laid upon the writings of these 
last, by such as treat of English poetry, the old metri- 
cal romances, though far more popular in their time, 
were hardly known to exist. Bui it has happened, 
unluckily, that the antiquaries, who have revived the 
works of our ancient writers, have been, for the 
most part, men void of taste and genius, and there- 
fore have always fastidiously rejected the old poetical 
romances, because founded on fictitious or popular 
subjects, while they have been careful to grub up 
every petty fragment of the most dull and insipid 
rhymist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
obscure true history. Should the public encourage 
the revival of some of those ancient epic songs of 
chivalry, they would frequently see the rich ore of 
an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried it may be among 
the rubbish and dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many important 
uses: It would throw new light on the rise and 
progress of English poetry, the history of which can 



prose books of chivalry became more admired, especially 
alter the Spanish romances began to. be translated into 
English, towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reigus then 
the most popular metrical romances began to be reduced 
into prose, as Sir Gay Devis &c. 

* See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these 
volumes, in Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 139. 

t Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 238. 

In ail the former editions, which I have seen, the 

name at the end of the 4th line is Blandamoure- 



be but impefectly understood if these are neglected : 
It would also serve to illustrate innumerable passages 
in our ancient classic poets, which, without theij 
help, must be for ever obscure. For, not to mention 
Chaucer and Spenser, who abound with perpetual 
allusions to them, I shall give nn instance or two from 
Shakespeare, by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play of King John our great dramatic poet 
alludes to an exploit of Richard I. which the reader 
will in vain look for in any true history. Faulcor • 
bridge says to bis mother, act i. sc 1. 

" Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose.. . 
Against whose furie and unmatched force, 
The awlesse lion could not wage the fight, 
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand * 
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
May easily winne a woman's :"— 

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its 
source only in the old romance of Richard Cceur de 
Lyon *, in which his encounter with a lion makes a 
very shining figure. I shall give a large extract 
from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these 
old rhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in 
their fictions neglect the proper means to produce 
the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in 
the prose books of chivalry. 

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from 
the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit 
of " a palmer in Almaye," and apprehended as a spy, 
was by the king thrown into prison. Ward re we, 
the king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength, 
desires the Jailor to let him have a sight of his 
prisoners. Richard being the foremost, VV'ardrewe 
asks him, " if he dare stand a buffet from his band ?" 
and that on the morrow he shall return him another. 
Richard consents, and receives a blow that staggers 
him. On the morrow, having previously waxed his 
hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. Wardrewe 
accordingly, proceeds the story, " held forth as a 
trewe man," and Richard gave him such a blow or 
the cheek, as broke his jaw-bone, and killed him ot 
the spot. The king, to revenge the death of his son, 
orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion, 
kept purposely from food, shall be turned loose 
upon Richard. But the king's daughter, having 
fallen in love with him, tells him of her father's 
resolution, and at his request procures him forty 
ells of white silk " kerchers j" and here the descrip- 
tion of the combat begins : 

The kever-chefes t he tcke on honde, 
And aboute his arme he wonde ; 
And thought in that ylke while, 
To slee the lyon with some gyle. 
And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode, 
And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 
With that came the jaylere, 
And other men that wyth him were, 
And the lyon them amonge; 
His paws were stiff* and strange. 
The chambre dore they undone, 
And the lyon to them is gone. 
R vcharde sayd, Helpe, Lorde Jesu ? 
The lyon made to hym venu, 

* Dr. Grey has shewn that the same story is alluded to In 
RasteU's Chronicle : As it was doubtless originally had from 
the romance, this is proof that the old Metrieal Romances 
throw light on our first writers in prose: many of our 
ancient historians have recorded the fictions of romance. 

t i. e. Handkerehiefa. Here we have the etymology of 
the word, vis. " Convre le Chef," 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



191 



And wolde hym have all to rente ; 
Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente * 
The Tyon on the breste him spurned, 
That abonte he tourned, 
The lyon was hongry and megre, 
And bette his tayle to be egre ; 
He loked aboute as he were madde ; 
Abrode he all his pawes spradde. 
He cryde lowde, and yaned f wyde. 
Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde 
What hym was beste, and to hym sterte, 
In at the throte his honde he gerte, 
And rente out the herte with his honde, 
Lounge and all that he there fonde. 
The lyon fell deed to the grounde : 
Rycharde felte no wem $, ne wounde. 
He fell on his knees on that place, 

% And thanked Jesu of his grace. 

• •••••. 

What follows is not so well, and therefore I shall 
extract no more of this poem.— For the above feat 
the author tells us, the king was deservedly called 

Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne. 

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth 
of hid madman in King Lear, act 3, sc 4. 

Mice and rats and such small deere 

Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare, 

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of 
deere, one of them would substitute gear; and another 
cheer L But the ancient reading is established by 
the old romance of Sir Bevis, which Shakespeare 
had doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This 
distich is part of a description there given of the 
hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined for 
seven years in a dungeon ; 

Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere. 

Sign. F iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the reader 
will find various extracts from these old poetical 
legends ; to which I refer him for farther examples 
of their style and metre. To complete this subject, 
it will be proper at least to give one specimen of 
their skill m distributing and conducting their fable, 
by which it will be seen that nature and common 
sense had supplied to these old simple bards the 
want of critical art, and taught them some of the 
most essential rules of epic poetry, I shall select 
the romance of Libius Disconius |J, as being one of 
those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or 
more intelligible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem may be defined "f A fable re- 
lated by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire 
virtue, by representing the action of some one hero, 
favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in 
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him :" I know 
not why we should withold the name of epic poem 
from the piece which I am about to analyse. 

My copy is divided into nine parts or cantos, the 
several arguments of which are as follows. 



• i. e. dipt aside. t i. e. yawned. 

t i. e. hurt. $ l)r- Wsrbnrton* — Dr. Grey. 

K So it is indued in the Editor's MS. Bnt tbe true tide 
is Lb baux ditcomu, or The Fair Unknown. See a note on 
the Canterbury Tales, vol. It. p. 333. 

n VkL " Discours sar U Poesie Epiqae," prefixed to Tele- 
maqae. 



PA11T I. 

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention : 
the hero is described ; a natural son of Sir G awn in 
a celebrated knight of King Arthur's court, who 
being brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept 
ignorant of his name and descent. He early ex- 
hibits marks of his courage, by killing a knight in 
single combat, who encountered him as he was 
hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking 
adventures : therefore cloathing himself in his 
enemy's armour, he goes to King Arthur's court, to 
request the order of knighthood. His request 
granted, he obtains a promise of having the first 
adventure assigned him that shall offer. — A damsel 
named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore 
King Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young princess, 
" the Lady of Sinadone" their mistress, who is 
detained from her rights, and confined in prison. 
The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir 
Lybius : the king assents ; the messengers are dis- 
satisfied and object to his youth ; but are forced to 
acquiesce. And here the first book closes with a 
description of the ceremony of equipping him forth. 

part n. 

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is 
derided by the dwarf and the damsel on account of 
his youth : they come to the bridge of Perill, which 
none can pass without encountering a knight called 
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : 
they just with their spears : J)e la Braunch is dis- 
mounted : the battle is renewed on foot : Sir Wil- 
liam's sword breaks : he yields. Sir Lybius makes 
him swear to go and present himself to King Arthur, 
as the first fruits of his valour. The conquered 
knight sets out for King Arthur's court : is met by 
three knights, his kinsmen ; who, informed of his 
disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. 
The next day they overtake hun : tbe eldest of the 
three attacks Sir Lybius ; but is overthrown to the 
ground. The two other brothers assault him : Sir 
Lybius is wounded ; yet cuts off the second brother's 
arm: the third yields ; Sir Lybius sends them all to 
King Arthur. In the third evening he is awakened 
by the dwarf, who has discovered a fire in the wood. 

part in. 

Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horse- 
back : he finds two Giants roasting a wild boar, 
who have a fair lady their captive. Sir Lybius, by 
favour of the night, runs one of them through 
with his spear: is assaulted by the other : a fierce 
battle ensues : he cuts off the giant's arm, and at 
length his head. The rescued lady (an earl's daugh- 
ter) tells him her story; and leads him to her father's 
castle ; who entertains him with a great feast ; and 
presents him at parting with a suit of armour and a 
steed. He sends the giant's head to King Arthur. 

PART IV. 

Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew 
their journey : they see a cns'le stuck round with I 
human heads; and are informed it belongs to a ' 
knight called Sir Gefferon, who, in honour of his 
lemman or mistress challenges all comers : he that 
can produce a fairer lady, is to be rewarded with a 
milkwhite foul con, but if overcome, to lose his head. 
Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town • 
in the morning goes to challenge the taulcon. The 



!92 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, ficc. 



knights exchange ^ eir glov«» • & e y a g Tee to J U8t in 
the market-place: the lady and maid Ellen are 
placed aloft in chain ; their dresses : the superior 
beauty of Sir Gefferon's mistress described: the 
ceremonies previous to the combat. They engage : 
the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon is in- 
curably hurt ; and carried home on his shield. Sir 
Lybius sends the faulcon to King Arthur ; and 
receives back a large present in florins. He stays 
forty days to be cured of his wounds, which he 
spends in feasting with the neighbouring lords. 

part v. 

Sir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone : in a forest he 
meets a knight hunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle : 
maid Ellen charmed with a rery beautiful dog, begs 
Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her , Sir Otes meets 
them, and claims his dog : is refused : bein£ un- 
armed he rides to his castle, and summons bis fol- 
lowers : they go in quest of Sir Lybius : a battle 
ensues : he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to 
follow the other conquered knights to King Arthur. 

PART VI. 

Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a 
river-side, beset round with pavillions or tents : he 
is informed, in the castle is a beautiful lady besieged 
by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the bridge 
and will let none pass without doing him homage : 
this Lybius refuses : a battle ensues : the giunt 
described : the several incidents of the battle ; which 
lasts a whole summer's day : the giant is wounded ; 
put to flight ; slain. The citizens come out in pro- 
cession to meet their deliverer : the lady invites him 
into her castle ; falls in love with him : and seduces 
him to her embraces, He forgets the princess of 
Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching lady a 
twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another 
Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual 

Eleasure; and detains him frcm the pursuit of 
onour. 

PAPT Vlt 

Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of 
speaking to him ; and upbraids him with his vice 
and folly : he is filled with remorse, and escapes the 
same evening. At length he arrives at the city and 
castle of Sinadone : is given to understand that he 
must challenge the constable of the castle to single 
combat, before he can be received as a puest. They 
just: the constable is worsted : Sir Lybius is feasted 
in the castle: he declares his intention of delivering 
their lady ; and inquires the particulars of her his- 
tory. " Two Necromancers have built a fine palace 
by sorcery, and there keep her inchonted, till she 
will surrender her duchy to them, and yield to such 
base conditions as they would impose." 

part vm. 

Early*on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the 
inchanted palace. He alights in the court: enters 
the hall : the wonders of which are described in 
strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high 
table : on a sudden all the lights are quenched : it 
thunders, and lightens; the palace shakes ; the walls 
fall in pieces about his ears. He is dismayed and 
confounded : but presently hears hor.es neigh, and 
is challenged to single combat by the sorcerers. He 
gets to bis steed : a battle ensues, with various 
turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; but gets a 



sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds 
the other with it : the edge of the sword being 
secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal. 



part xx. 



He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is 
carried away from him by enchantment : at length 
he finds him, and cuts off his head : he returns to 
the palace to deliver the lady \ but cannot find ner : 
as he is lamenting, a window opens, through which 
enters a horrible serpent with wings and a woman's 
face : it coils round his neck and kisses him ; then 
is suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. 
She tells him she is the Lady of Smadone. and was 
so enchanted, till she might kiss Sir Gawain, or 
some* one of his blood : that he has dissolved the 
charm, and that herself and her dominions may be 
his reward. The knight (whose descent is by this 
means discovered") joyfully accepts the offer ; makes 
her his bride, and then sets out with her for King 
Arthur's court. 

Such is the table of this ancient piece : which the 
reader may observe, is as regular in its conduct, as 
any of the finest poems of classical antiquity. If the 
execution, particularly as to the diction and senti- 
ments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a 
capital performance ; but this is such as might be 
expected in rude and ignorant times, and in a bar- 
barous unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a 
list of such old metrical romances as are still extant ; 
beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer. 

1. The romance of " Horne Childe " is preserved 
in the British Muesum, where it is intitled |>e geste 
of King Home. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 2263, 
p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from ibe 
mention in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been 
written after some of the Crusades. It begins thus : 

All heo ben blybe 

)>at to my son g ylype : 

A song ychulle ou sing 

Of Allot be gode kynge *, &c. 

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, 
and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the. Ad- 
vocates' Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto 
volume of old English poetry f VV. 4. 1.] No. xxxiv. 
in seven leaves or foliosf, intitled, Hornchild and 
Maiden Rtnivel, and beginning thus : 

Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here. 

2. The Poem of Jpatit (or Ypotis) is preserved in 
the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 77, but is rather 
a religious legend, than a romance. Its beggiuing 

He bat wyll of wysdome here 

Herkeneth now ae may here 

Of a tale of holy wryte 

Seynt Jon the Evangelyste wytnesseth hyt. 

3. The Romance of Sir Guy was written before 
that of Bevis, being quoted in it J. An account of 
this old poem is given in Series I. Book ii. No. 1. 



* 1. e. May all they be blithe, that to My «K>ng listen : A 
song 1 shall yon sing, of Allot the good king, 4cc. 

+ In each full page of this vol. are forty-i'owr lines, vbcn 
the poem is in long metre: and ci(;lity-ciglit when the nieue 
is short, and the page in two columns. 

| Sign. K.lb, 



» ■ 



ON THE ANCIENT METICAL ROMANCES, &c 



193 



To which it may be added, that two complete copies 
1H.MS. are preserved at Cambridge, the one in die 
public Library*, the other in that of Cains College, 

Class A. 8. In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be 

seen the first lines of the printed copy, — The first 
MS. begins, 

Sythe the tyme that God was borne. 

4. Guy and Ccibronde, an old romance in three 
parts, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 349) 
It is in stanzas of six lines, the first of which may 
be seen in vol. n. p. 191, beginning thus : 

When meate and drinke is great plentye. 

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two 
ancient poems on the subject of Guv of Warwick : 
via. No. xviii. containing twenty-six leaves, and 
xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both these have unfortu- 
nately the berinnrngs wanting, otherwise they would 
perhaps be round to be different copies of one or 
both the proceeding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another article 
to this list, viz. The Romance of Rembrun son of Sir 
Guy; beinjr. No. xxi. in nine leaves: this is pro- 
perly a continuation of the History of Guy : ana in 
art 3, the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as 
a necessary part of it. This Edinburgh Romance 
of Rembrun begins thus : 

Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost 

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must ob- 
serve, that if we may believe Dugdale in his Baron- 
age (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2). the fame of our English 
Champion had in the time of Henry IV. travelled as 
far as the East, and was no less popular among the 
Sarasens, than here in the West among the nations 
of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received by a 
noble person, the Soldan's lieutenant, who hearing 
he was descended from the famous Guy of Warwick, 
" whose story they had in books of their own lan- 
guage," invited him to his palace ; and royally feast- 
ing him, presented him with three precious stones of 
great value ; besides divers cloaths of silk and gold 
given to his servants. 

6. The Romance of Syr Bevit is described in 
Series I. Book iii. No. 1. Two manuscript copies 
of this poem are extant at Cambridge ; via. in the 
public Librarytf and in that of Cains Coll. Class A. 
9. (5.)— The first of these begins, 

Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale. 

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevit 
ofHamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS. No. xxii. con- 
sisting of twenty-five leaves, and beginning thus : 

Lordinges herkneth to mi tale, 
Is merier than the nigbtengale. 

The printed copies begin different from both : 

Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you atyl. 






• For tbia and most of the following, which an mentioned 
a» preserved in the public Librnry, I refer the reader to the 
Oxon Catalogue of MESS. 1S07, vol. ii, p. 894; In Appendix 
to Bishop Moore'. MSS. No. 600, 33, aince riven to the 
University of Cambridge. *•■».-. 

» No. 000, tec 31. Vid. Catalog. USS. p. 304. 



7. IAbeaux (Libeaut, or Lybius) Disconiue is pro- 
served in the Editors folio MS. (pag. Slf.J where 
the first stanza is, 

Jesus Christ christen kinge, 

And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Uelpe them at their neede, 
That will listen to my tale, 
Of a Knight I will you tell, 

A doughty man of deede. 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library 
(Calig. A. 2. fol. 40), but containing such innumer- 
able variations, that it is apparently a different trans- 
lation of some old French original, which will ac- 
count for the title of Le Beaux Discount, or The 
Fair Unknown, the first line is, 

Jesu Christ our Savyour. 

As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no romance 
with this title has been discovered ; but as the word 
Blaundemere occurs in the romance of Libius Disco- 
nius, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319, he thought 
the name of Blandamoure (which was in all 
the editions of Chaucer he had then seen) might 
have some reference to this. But Pleindamour, the 
name restored by Mr. Tyrrwhitt, is more remote. 

8. Le Morte Arthur* is among the Harl. MSS. 
2252,$ 49. This is judged to be a translation from 
the French ; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than the 
time of Henry VII. but it seems to be quoted in Syr 
Bevis (Sign K. ij b.) It begins, 

Lordinges that are leffe and deare. 

In the Library of Bennet College, Cambridge, No. 
ocoli. is a MS. intitled, in the catalogue, Acta Arihurit 
Metrico Anglicano, but I know not its contents. 

9. In the Editors folio MS. are many songs and 
romances about King Arthur and bis Knights, some 
of which are very imperfect, as King Arthur and the 
Ry of Cornwall, (p. 24.) in stanaas of four lines, 
beginning, 

' Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay. 

The Turks and Gatoain (p. 38), in stanzas of six 
lines, beginning thus : 

Listen lords great and small*. 

but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct 
articles of them. See also Series I. Book i. No. 1, 2, 
4,5. 

In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene Knight, in 
two parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, 
in stanzas of six lines, beginning thus : 

List : when Arthur he was k : 

10. 77ts Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale 
about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in dis- 
tichs : 

Listen : to me a litle stond. 

In all these old poems the same set of knights are 
always represented with the same manners and cha- 
racters ; which seem to have been as well known, 
and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as 



* In the former editions ; after the above, followed mention 
of a fragment in the same MS. intitled, SW Lionel, in dig 
tichs (p. Si) ; hat this being only a abort ballad, and not 
relating to King Arthur la here omitted. 



!9t 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c 



Homer's heroes were among the Greeks ; for, as 
Ulyua is always represented crafty, AchilU* irascible 
and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gatcain is ever courteous 
and gentle, Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, &c 
" Sir Gawain with ki$ olde eurtetu" is mentioned by 
Chaucer as noted to a proverb, in his Squire's Tales. 
Canterb. Tales, voL iL p. 104. 

11. Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance con- 
cerning another of King Arthur's knights, is pre- 
served m the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2. £, 33. 
This is a translation from the French 9 , made by one 
Thomat Chettre, who is supposed to have lived in the 
reign of Henry VI. (See Tanner's Biblioth.) It is 
in stanzas of six lines, and begins. 

Be douzty Artours dawea. 

The above was afterwards altered by some min- 
strel into the romance of Sir Lambewell, in three 
parts, under which title it was more generally 
knownf. This' is in the Editor's folio MS. p. 60, 
begiuning thus : 

Doughty in King Arthures dayes. 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's 
folio MS. p. 124.) is a well invented tale of chivalry, 
scarce inferior to any of Ariosto's. This, which was 
inadvertently omitted in the former editions of this 
list, is in distichs, and begins thus : 

It fell sometimes in the land of Beame. 

13. The Romance of Merline, in nine parts, (pre- 
served in the same folio MS. p. 145) gives a curious 
account of the birth, parentage, and juvenile adven- 
tures of this famous British prophet. In this poem 
the Saxons are called Sarazens; and the thrusting 
the ri'bt'I angels out of Heaven is attributed to "oure 
Lady." his in distichs, and begins thus : 

He that made with his hand. 

There is an old romance Of Arthour and vf Merlin, 
in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems : I know 
not whether it has any thing in common with this 
last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii., 
and extends through fifty-five leaves. The two first 
lines are, 

Jesu Crist, heven king, 
Al ous graunt gode ending. 

14. Sir Isetibras (or as it is in the MS. copies, Sir 
Isumbrus) is quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6. 

Among Mr. Garrick's old plays is a printed copy ; of 
which an account has been already given in Series I. 
Book iii. No. 8. It is preserved in MS. in the Li- 
brary of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2) and also 
in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This 
is extremely different from the printed copy, E. g. 

God bat made both erj>e and hevene, 

15. Emari, a very curious and ancient romance, is 
preserved in the same volume of the Cotton Library, 
f. 69. It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins thus : 

Jesu J>atys kyng in trone. 

* The French original i» preserved among the Harl. MSS 
Xo. 078, sec. 112, Laneal. 

t See Laneham's Letter concerning Queen Elisabeth's 
entertainment at Killing worth, 1579, hmo, p. 34. 



16. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight of the Swan, 
preserved in the Cotton Library, has been already 
described in the Essay on P. Plowman's Metre, &c. 
Series II. Book iii. No. 1, as hath also 

17. The Sege ef Jerlam (or Jerusalem), which 
seems to have been written after the other, axd may 
not improperly be classed among the romances ; as 
may also the following, which is preserved in the 
same volume ; vis. 

18. Owaine My let, (foL 90) giving an account of 
the wonders of St Patrick's Purgatory. This is a 
translation into verse of the story related in Mat. 
Paris's Hist. (sub. ann. 1153.) — It is in distichs be- 
ginning thus : 

God b«t ys so full of myght 

In the same manuscript are three or four other 
narrative poems, which might be reckoned among 
the romances, but being rather religious legends, I 
shall barely mention them ; as TnndaU f. 17. Tren- 
tale Sei Gregorii, f. 81 Jerome, f. 133. Eusiache, 
f. 136. 

19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chi- 
valry, is in the same volume of the Cotton Library, 
f. 20. — Notwithstanding the name, this old poem 
has nothing in common with the history of the Ro- 
man emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of 
stanza, whereof 1,2, 3, and 5, rhyme together, as 
do 4 and 6. It begins thus 

Ihesu f>at was with spere ystonge. 

In the public Library at Cambridge*, is a poem 
with the same title, that begins very differently 

Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge. 

20. Eglamoxtr of Artat (or Artoys) is preserved in 
the same volume with the foregoing, both in the 
Cotton Library, and public Library at Cambridge. 
It is also in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 295,) where it 
is divided into six parts. — A printed copy is in the 
Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art. Seld. and also among 
Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. vol. x. It is in distichs, 
and begins thus : 

lhesu Crist of heven kyng. 

21. Syr Triamore (in stanzas of six lines) is pre- 
served in MS. in the Editor's volume (p. 210), and 
in the public Library at Cambridge, (690, $ 29. 
Vid. Cat MSS. p. 394 ) — Two printed copies are 
extant in the Bodleian Library, and among Mr. 
Garrick's plays, in the same volumes with the last 
article. Both the Editor's MS. and the printed co 
pies begin, 

Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge, 

The Cambridge copy thus : 

Heven blys that all shall wynne. 

22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which last 
seems the true title/) in five parts, in distichs, is 
preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371, and in 
the public Library at Cambridge (ubi supra.) — A 
printed copy is in the Bod. Library, C. 39. Art. Seld. 

■ ■ ■ i ^ ■ i i ■ » 

I • No. 090 (30). Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. KM. 



ON THE ANCIENT MEl'IUCAL ROMANCES, &c. 



m 



and among Mr. Garrick's plays, K. vol. is. The 
Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 

Lordinge, and you wyl bolde you styl. 

The Cambridge MS. baa it, 

Lyatenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre. 

23. Ipomytlon (or ChyUle Ipomydon) is preserved 
among the rlarl. MSS. 2252, (44.) It is in distich*, 
and begins, 

Mekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre. 

In tbe Library of Lincoln Cathedral, K k. 3. 10. 
is an old imperfect printed copy, wanting the whole 
first sheet A. 

24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those bur- 
esqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Thopas *. — 
Mr. Garrick has a printed copy of this among his 
old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins. 

It was a squyer of lowe degre, 

That loved the longs daughter of Hungre. 

25. Hittorye of K. Richard Cure [Cosur] de Lyon 
(Impr. W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is preserved in the 
Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art. Selden. A fragment 
of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of old 
English poems, No. xxxvii. in two leaves. A large 
extract from this romance has been given already 
above (p. 190.) Richard was the peculiar patron of 
chivalry, and favourite of the old minstrels and 
Troubadours. See YVarton's Observ. vol. i. p. 29. j 
vol. ii. p. 40. 

2d. Of the following I have only seen No. xxvii, 
but I believe they may all be referred to the class of 
romances. 

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel 
(Bodl. Lib. C. 39. Art. Sheld. a printed copy.) This 
Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Coney's Heart, 
related in Faucbet, and in Howel's Letters (v.i. ft. 6. 
1. 20. See Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.) The Editor has 
seen a very beautiful old ballad or this subject in 
French, 

27. The four following are all preserved in the 
MS. so often referred to in the public Library at 
Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. More's MSS. in 
Cat MSS. torn. ii. p. 394,) viz. The Lay of Erie rf 
Tholotue, (No. xxvii,) of which the Editor hath also 
a copy from " Cod. MSS. Mus. AshmoL Oxon." 
The first line of both is, 

Jesu Chryste in Trynyte, 

28. Boherd Kynge of Cysyll (or Sicilly,) shewing 
the fall of pride. Of this there is also a copv among 
the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3.) The Cambridge MS. 
begins, 

Princis that be prowde in prese. 

29. Le bone Florence of Rome, beginning thus : 

As ferre as men ride or gone. 

50. Diocletian the Emperour, beginning, 
Sum tyme ther was a noble man. 

• This is alluded to by Shnkespeare in his Henry V. (Act 
5 ) where Fluellyn tell* PL«*ol, he will make him a squire 
of low degree, when he means to knock him down. 



31. The two knightly brothers Amyt and Amelion 
(among the Marl. MSS. 2386, §42) is an old ro- 
mance of chivalry ; as is also, I believe, the frag- 
ment of the Lady BeUsant, the duke of Lombardy't 
fair daughter, mentioned in the same article. See 
the Catalog, vol. ii. 

32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to 
(preserved in the Advocates' Library, W. 4. 1 t ) 
might probably be found some other articles to add 
to this list, as well as other copies of some of the 
pieces mentioned in it ; for the whole volume con 
tains not fewer than thirty-seven poems or to 
mances, some of them very long. But as many ot 
them have lost the beginnings, which have been cut 
out for the sake of the illuminations, and as I have 
not had an opportunity of examining the MS. my- 
self, I shall be content to mention only the articles 
that follow • ; viz. 

An old romance about Rouland (not I believe the 
famous Paludine, but a champion named Rouland 
Louth ; query) being in the volume, No. xxvii, in 
five leaves, and wants the beginning. 

33. Another romance, that seems to be a kind of 
continuation of this last, in titled, Otuel a Knight 
(No. xxviii, in eleven leaves and a half.) The two 
first lines are, 

Herkneth both zinge and old, 
That willen heren of battailes bold. 

34. The King of Tars (No. iv, in five leaves and a 
half; it is also in the Bodleian Library, MS. Vernon, 
f. 304) beginning thus : 

Herkneth to me both eld and zing, 
For Maries love that swete thing. 

35. A tale or romance (No. i, two leaves) that 
wants both beginning and end. The first lines now 
remaining are, 

The Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the 

knicht him haden y told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor him 

thay weren y-cald. 

36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii. 
four leaves.) The first lines at present are, 

To Mr. Steward will y gon. and tellen him the 

Bothe of the 
Keseyved bestow sone anon gif zou will serve 

and with hir be. 

37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thir- 
teen leaves.) The two first lines that occur are, 

That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold. 

I cannot conclude my account of this curious man- 
uscript, without acknowledging that I was in- 
debted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the 
ingenious professor of Belles Lettres in the Univer- 
sity of Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its 
contents, and for the important additions it enabled 
me to make to the foregoing list. 

To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical 

• Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of 
their titles, because they may enable a carious inquirer to 
complete or improve other copies. 

o 2 



196 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



romances in the Scottish dialect may now he added, 
which are published in Pinkerton's " Scottish 
Poems, reprinted from scarce editions." land. 1792, 
in 3 vols. 8vo. vis. 

38. Gawan and Gobgras, a metrical romance, 
from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo. 
beginning, 

In the tyme of Arthur, aa trew men me tald. 
It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a 
metrical romance, in the same stanzas as No.xxxviii, 
from an ancient MS. beginning thus: 

In the tyme of Arthur an aunter * betydde 
By the Turawathelan, as the boke tells; 
Whan be to Carlele was comen, and conqueror 
kyd, &c. 

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old 
alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c. and in the ter- 
mination of each stanza the short triplets of the Tur- 
nament of Tottenham) are judged to be as old aa 
the time of our King Henry VI., being apparently 
the production of an old |»oet f thus mentioned by 



Dunbar, in his " Lament for the Death of the Mak- 



" Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take, 
That made the aventurea of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, 
that Tumewathelan is evidently Toame-Wadling, ce- 
lebrated in the old ballad of the Marriage of Sir 
Gawaine. 8ee the concluding Notes to No. 4, 
Series I. Book i, and No. 19, Series I. Book iii. 

Many new references, and perhaps some addi- 
tional articles might be added to ,the foregoing list 
from Mr. Warton's " History of English Poetry," 
3 vols. 4to., and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt'a 
improved edition of " Chaucer's Canterbury Tales." 
&c, in 5 vols. 8vo*, which hav4 been published eince 
this Essay, &c was first composed ; but it will be 
sufficient once for all to refer the curious reader to 
those popular works. 

The reader will also see many interesting parti- 
culars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on 
most points of general literature, in Sir John Haw- 
kins's curious " History of Music," &c. in 5 vols. 
4to. as also in Dr. Burner's History, &c in 4 vols. 
4to. 



TUB END OF TH» 



IAY. 



I. 

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 






— Is printed verbatim from the old MS. 
described in the Preface. The Editor believes it 
more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight ; 
the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced 
the orthography and style in many instances to the 
standard of his own times. 

Hie incidents of the " Mantle" and the " Knife" 
have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from 
any other writer. The former of these evidently 
suggested to Spenser his conceit of "Florimels 
Girdle," B. iv. C. 5, St 3. 

That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 
And wivehood true to all that did it bear© ; 
But whosoever contrarie dotb prove, 
Might not the same about her middle weare, 
But it would loose or else asunder teare. 

So it happened to the false Florimell, at. 16, when 

—Being brought, about her middle small 
They thought to gird, as best it her became, 
But by no means they could it thereto frame. 
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 

That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
And each one thought aa to their fancies came. 
But she herself did think it done for spight, 
And touched was with secret wrath and shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame : 
Then many other ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the same, 
But it would not on none of them abide, 

But when thev thought it fast, eftsoones it was un tide. 

Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre, 
Till that at laat the gentle Amoret 
likewise aasayed to prove that girdle's powre. 
And having it about her middle set 

• 1. c. Adventure. 



Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
But Florimel exceedingly did fret, 
And snatching from her hand,.&c 

As for the trial of the Home, it is not peculiar to our 
Poet : It occurs in the old Romance, intitled " Morte 
Arthur," which was translated out of French in the 
time of King Edward IV., and first printed anno 
1 484b From that romance Ariosto is thought to have 
borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 42, &c 
See Mr. Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen, 
&c. 

The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a 
pood deal from this of our Poet, as the reader will 

judge from the following* extract " By the way 

they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan 
la Faye to Kin^ Arthur, and this knight had a fair 
home all garnished with gold, and the home had 
such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentle- 
woman drinke of that home, but if ahe were true to 
her husband : and if shee were false she should spill 
all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, 
ahee might drink peaceably : and because of Queene 
Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, 

this home was sent unto King Arthur." This 

horn is intercepted and brought unto another king 
named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than 
the British hero, for he makes " bis qeene drinke 
thereof and an hundred ladies moe, and there were 
but foure ladies of all those that dranke cleane," of 
which number the said queen proves not to be one 
[Book II, chap. 22, Ed. 1652.] 

In other respects the two stories are so different, 
that we have just reason to suppose this Ballad was 
written before that romance was translated into 
English. 

As for Queen Guenever, she is here represented 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



197 



no otherwise than in the old Histories and Romances. 
Holinshed observes, that " she was evil reported of, 
as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir 
husband." Vol. I, p. 93. 

%* Such Readers, as have no relish for pure 
antiquity, will find a more modern copy of this 
Ballad at the end of the volume. 

In the third day of may, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curteous child, 
That cold much of wisdome. 

A kirtle and a mantle 5 

This child had uppon, 
With ' brouches and ringes 
Full richelye bedone. 

He had a sute of silke 

About his middle drawne ; 10 

Without he cold of curtesye 

He thought itt much shame. 

God speed thee, King Arthur, 

Sitting at thy ineate : 

And the goodly Queene Guenever, 15 

I cannott her forgett 

I tell you/lords, in this hall ; 

I hett you all to ' heede* ; 

Except you be the more surer 

Is you for to dread. 20 

He plucked out of his ' poterner,' 
And longer wold not dwell, 
He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
Betweene two nut-shells. 

Have thou here, King Arthur ; 25 

Have thou heere of mee : 
Give itt to thy comely queene 
Shapen as itt is already** 

Itt shall never become that wiffe, 
That hath once done amisse. 30 

Then every knight in the kings court 
Began to care for ' his ' 

Forth came dame Guenever ; 

To the mantle shee her * hied' ; 

The ladye shoe was newfangle, 35 

But yett shee was affrayd. 

When shee had taken the mantle ; 

She stoode as shee had beene madd : 

It was from the top to the toe 

As sheeres had itt shread. 40 

One while was it ' eule' ; 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was it wadded : 
111 itt did her beseeme. 

Another while was it blacke 45 

And bore the worst hue : 

By my troth, quoth King Arthur, 

I thinke thou be not true. 



Ver, 7, branches, MS. T. 18, hcate, MS. V. 21, poter- 
ver, MS. V. 33, his wiffe. MS. Y. 3J, bided, MS. V. 41, 
gaole, MS. 



Shee threw downe the mantle, 
That bright was of blee ; 
Fast with a rudd redd, 
To her chamber can shee flee. 

She curst the weaver, and the walker, 
That clothe that had wrought ; 
And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 
That hither hath itt brought. 

I had rather be in a wood, 
Under a greene tree ; 
Then in King Arthurs court 
Shamed for to bee. 

Kay called forth his ladye, 
And bade her come neere ; 
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye, 
I pray thee hold thee there. 

Forth came his ladye 
Shortlye and anon ; 
Boldlye to the mantle 
Then is shee gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 
And cast it her about ; 
Then was shee bare ., 

* Before all the rout.' 

Then ever knight, 
That was in the longs court, 
Talked, laughed, and showted 
Full oft att that sport. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 
That bright was of blee ; 
Fast, with a red rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee. 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede, 
And he preferred to this litle boy 
Twenty markes to his meede ; 

And all the time of the Christmasse 
Willinglye to ffeede ; 
For why this mantle might 
Doe his wiffe some need! 

When she had tane the mantle. 

Of cloth that was made, 

Shee had no more left on her. 

But a tassell and a threed : 

Then every knight in the kings court 

Bade evill might shee speed. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 
That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee 

Craddocke called forth his ladye, 
And bade her come in ; 
Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye, 
With a little dinne. 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



Ver. 75, langed. 



r 



i&s 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



Winne this mantle, ladye, 
And it shal be thine, 
If thou never did amiss* 
Since thou wast mine. 

Forth came Craddockes ladye 
Shortlye and anon ; 
But boidlye to the mantle 
Then is shee gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And cast it her about, 

Upp att her great toe 

It began to crinkle and erowt : 

Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 

And shame me not for nought. 

Once I did amisse, 

I tell you certainlye, 

When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Under a greene tree ; 

When I last Craddockes mouth 

Before he marryed mee. 

When shee had her shreeven, 
And her sines shee had tolde ; 
The mantle stode about her 
Right as shee wold : 

Seemelye of coulour 

Glittering like gold : 

Then every knight in Arthurs court 

Did her behold. 

Then spake dame Guenever 
To Arthur our king ; 
She hath tane yonder mantle 
Not with right, but with wronge 

See you not yonder woman, 
That maketh her self soe ' cleane' I 
I have seene tane out of her bedd 
Of men fiveteene ; 

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 
From her bedeene : 
Yett shee taketh the mantle, 
And maketh her self cleane. 

Then spake the litle boy. 
That kept the mantle in hold ; 
Sayes, king, chasten thy wifFe, 
Of her words shee is to bold : 

Shee is a bitch and a witch, 
And a whore bold : 
King, in thine owne hall 
Thou art a cuckold. 



:G5 



110 



115 



120 



11 s * 



ISO 



1S5 



140 



145 



150 



Yer. 134, wright, MS. V. 130, ckue, MS. V. 140, by 
deene, MS. 



160 



The litle boy stoode 
Looking out a dor© ; 
* And there as he was lookinge 
He was ware of a wyld bore. 

He was ware of a wyld bore, 155 

Wold have werryed a man : 

He pulld forth a wood kniffe 

Fast thither that he ran : 

He brought in the bores head, 

And quitted him like a man. 

He brought in the bores head, 

And was wonderous bold : 

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe 

Carve itt that cold. 



Some rubbed their knives 1&> 

Uppon a whetstone : 

Some threw them under the table, 

And said they had none. 

King Arthur, and the. child 

Stood looking upon them ; 170 

All their knives edges 

Turned backe againe. 

Craddocke had a litle knive 

Of iron and of Steele ; 

He britled the bores head 375 

Wonderous weele ; 

That every knight in the kings court 

Had a morssell. 

The litle boy had a horne, 

Of red gold that ronge : 18q 

He said, there was noe cuckolde 

Shall drinke of my horne ; 

But he shold it sheede 

Either behind or beforne. 

Some shedd on their shoulder, 185 

And some on their knee ; 

He that cold not hitt his mouthe, 

Put it in his eye : 

And he that was a cuckold 

Every man might him see. 190 

Craddocke wan the horne, 

And the bores head : 

His ladie wan the mantle 

Unto her meede. 

Everye such a lovely ladye 195 

God send her well to speede. 



Ver. 170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or birtlcd, MS. 



-**- 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



199 



II. 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old 

ballad in the Editor's MS. which he has reason to 
believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and 
what furnished that hard with his Wife of Bath's 
Tale. The original was so extremely mutilated, half 
of every leaf being torn away, that without large 
supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for this 
collection : these it has therefore received, such as 
they are. They are not here particularly pointed 
out, because the " Fragment" itself will now be found 
printed at the end of this volume. 

TART THE FIRST. 

Kino Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 

And seemely is to see ; 
And there with him Queene Guenever, 

That bride toe bright of blee. 

And there with him Queene Guenever, 5 

That bride so bright in bowre : 
And all his barons about him stoode, 

That were both stifle and stowre. 

The king a royale Christmasse kept, 

With mirth and princelye cheare ; 10 

To him repaired many a knighte, 

That came both farre and neare. 

And when they were to dinner sette, 

And cups went freely round : 
Before them came a faire damselle, 15 

And knelt upon the ground. 

A boone, a boone, O Kinge Arthur©, 

I beg a boone of thee ; 
Avenge me of a carlish knighte. 

Who hath shent my love and mee. 20 

At Tearne-Wadling his castle stands. 

Near to that lake so fair, 
And proudtye rise the battlements, 

And streamers deck the air. 

Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 25 

May pass that castle-walle : 
But from that foule discurteous knighte, 

Aiisbappe will them befalle. 

Hee's twyce the size of common men, 

Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30 

And on bis backe he bears a clubbe, 
That is both thicke and longe. 

This grirarae barone 'twas our harde happe, 

But yester morae to see ; 
When to his bowre he bare my love, 55 

And sore misused mee. 

• Tearne-Wadling Is the name of a small lake near Hes- 
kcth In Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. 
There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the 
lake, the remains of which were not Ions since visible. 
Team, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, 
«ud is still In use. 



u: 



And when I told him, King Arthure 

As little shold him spare ; 
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge, 

To meete mee if he dare. 40 

Upp then sterted King Arthure, 

And sware by hille and dale, 
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone 

Till he had made him quail. 

Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 45 

Goe saddle mee my steede ; 
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 

Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge 

Benethe the castle walle : 50 

" Come forth ; come forth ; thou proude bardue, 
Or yielde thyself my thralle." 

On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 

And fene'd with many a spelle : 
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, ' 55 

But straita his courage felle. 

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 

King Arthur felte the charme : 
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 

Downe sunke bis feeble arrae. 60 

Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure, 

Now yield thee, unto mee : 
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 

Noe better termes maye bee, 

Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65 

And promise on thy faye, 
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling, 

Upon the new-yeare's daye : 

And bringe me worde what thing it is 

All women moste desyre : 70 

This is thy ransoine, Arthur, he sayes, 
lie have noe other hyre. 

King Arthur then helde up his hande, 

And sware upon bis faye, 
Then tooke bis leave of the grimme barone, 75 

And faste hee rode awaye. 

And be rode east, and he rode west, 

And did of all inquyre, 
What thing it is all women enve, 

And what they most desyre. 80 

Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 

Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye, 

And some a jollye knighte. 

In letters all King Arthur wrote. 

And seal'd them with his ringe: 
But still his minde was helde in ds> 

Each tolde a different thing* 



200 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



Ai ruthfulle he rode orer a more, 

He aawe a ladye sette 90 

Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye, 

All clad in red* scarlette. 

Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde, 

Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95 

Lo ! there was set her eye : 

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboate 

Her cheekes of deadlye hewe : 
A worse-form'd ladye than she was, 

No man mote ever viewe. * 100 

To hail the king; in seemelye sorte 

This ladye was fulle fame : 
But King Arthure all sore amas'd, 

No aunswere made again©. 

What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105 

That wilt not speake to mee ; 
Sir, I may chance to ease thy peine, 

Though I bee foule to see. 

If thou wilt ease my peine, he sayd, 

And helpe me in my neede ; 110 

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye', 

And it shall bee thy meede. 

O sweare mee this upon the roode, 

And promise on thy faye ; 
And here the secrette I will telle, 115 

That shall thy ransome paye. 

King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 

And sware upon the roode ; 
The secrette than the ladye told, 

As lightlye well shoe cou'de. 120 

Now this shall be my paye, sir king, 

And this my' guerdon bee. 
That some yong fair and courtlye knignt. 

Thou bringe to marrye mee. 

Fast then pricked King Arthure 125 

Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 
And soone he fonnde the barone's bowre : 

And soone the grimme baroune. 

Ho bare his clubbe upon his backe, 

Hee stoode botbe stiffe and stronge ; 130 

And, when he had the letters reade, 

Awaye the lettres flunge. 

Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands, 

All forfeit unto mee ; 
For this is not thy paye, sir king, 155 

Nor may thy ransome bee. 

Yet hold thy hand, thou proud barone, 

I praye thee hold thy hand ; 
And give mee leave to speake once more 

In reskewe of my land. 140 



• This was a commoapbraae la oar old writer* ; to Chancer 
l hi» Prolonw to the Cant. Tain, aays of the wife of Bath: 
Htr ho$m aarra qffyne acarlet red. 



This morne, as I came over a more, 

I saw a ladye sette 
Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye, 

All clad in red scarlette. 

Shee sayes, all women will have their wflle, J4> 

This is their chief desy re ; 
Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 

That I have payd mine byre. 

An earlye vengeaunce light on her ! 

The carliah baron swore : IS* 

Shee was my sister tolde thee this, 

And shee s a mishapen whore. 

But here I will make mine avowe, 

To do her as ill a turne : 
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 155 

In a fyre I will her burn©. 



PART THB SECONDS* 

Homewards pricked Kins Arthure, 

And a wearye man was nee ; 
And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 

That bride so bright of blee*. 

What newes ! what newes ! thou noble king, 5 

Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped T 
Where hast thou hung the carliah knighte T 

And where bestowed his head t 

The carliah knight is safe for mee, 

And free fro mortal harme : 10 

On magicke grounde his castle stands, 

And fenc'd with many a charm*. 

To bowe to him I was fulle fiune, 

And yielde mee to his hand : 
And but for a lothly ladye, there 15 

I sholde have lost my land. 

And nowe this fills my hearte with woe. 

And sorrowe of my life ; 
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight, 

Sholde marry her to his wife. 

Then bespake him Sir Gawame, 

That was ever a gentle knighte : 
That lothly ladye I will wed ; 

Therefore be merrye and light©. 

Nowe naye, nowe naye, mod Sir Gawaine ; 25 

My sister's sonne yee bee ; 
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme, 

And all too foule for yee. 

Her nose is crookt and turn*d outward© : 

Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 

A worse form'd ladye than shee is 
Was never seen with eye* 

What though her chin stand all awrye. 

And shee be foule to see : 
111 marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 55 

And 111 thy ransome bee. 



20 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



101 



Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine ; 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'll bare knights and squires, 

And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 40 

And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes, 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'll away to the greene forest, 

As wee a hunting went. 

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 45 

They rode with them that daye ; 
And foremoste of the companye 

There rode the stewarde Kaye : 

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Garratte keene ; 50 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, 

To the forest fireahe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forrest, 

Beneathe a mire holley tree 
There sate that ladye in red scarlette 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked upon her sweere ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, be sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60 

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked upon her snout ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, be sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in doubt. 

Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gawaine, 65 

And amend thee of thy life : 
For there is a knight amongst us all, 

Must marry her to his wife. 

What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay, 
I' the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gett mee a wife wherever I maye, 
In sooth shoe shall be none. 

Then some tooke up their hawkes in baste, 

And some took up their boundes ; 
And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75 

For cities, nor for townes. 

Then bespeke him King Arthurs, 

And Bware there by this dsye ; 
For a little foule aighte and mislikinge, 

Vee shall not say hex naye. 80 

Peace, lordlings, peace ; Sir Gawaine sayd ; 

Nor make debate and strife ; 
This lothlye ladye I will take, 

And marry her to my wife. 

Now thankee, nowe thankee, good Sir Gawaine, 85 

And a blessinge be thy meede I 
For as I am thine owne ladye, 

Thou never shalt rue this deede. 



Then up they took that lothly dame. 
And home anone they bringe : 

And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 
And married her with a ringe. 



90 



And when they were in wed-bed laid, 

And all were done awaye : 
" Come turne to mee, mine own wed-lord, 95 

Come turne to mee I praye." 

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 

For sorrowe and for care ; 
When, lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 

He sawe a young ladye faire. 100 

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 
a Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
The ripening cherrye swellde her lxppe, 
Ana all her necke was snowe. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady mire, 105 

Lying upon the sheete, 
And swore, as he was a true knighte, 

The spice was never soe sweete. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, 

Lying; there by his side : 1 10 

" Tne fairest flower is not so mire : 

Thou never can'st bee my bride." 

I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde, 
The same whicbe thou didst knowe, 

That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 

Upon the wild more to goe. 

Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth thee, 

And make thy choice with care ; 
Whether by night, or else by daye, 

Shall I be foule or (aire? 120 

" To have thee foule still in the night, 

When I with thee should playe I 
I had rather farre, my lady deare, 

To have thee foule by daye." 

What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125 

To drinke the ale and wine ; 
Alas 1 then I must hide myself, 

I must not goe with minel 



ISO 



135 



140 



" My faire ladye, Sir Gawaine sayd, 

I yield me to thy skille ; 
Because thou art mine owne lad yd 

Thou shalt have all thy wille/' 

Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine, 

And the daye that I thee see ; 
For as thou seest mee at this time, 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

My father was an aged knighte. 

And yet it chanced soe, 
He tooke to a wife a false ladye, 

Whicbe broughte me to this woe. 

Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 

In the greene forest to dwelle ; 
And there to abide in lothlye shape, 

Most like a fiend of belle. 

Midst mores and mosses ; woods, and wilds ; 145 

To lead a lonesome life ; 
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte 

Wolde marrye me to his wife : 

Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape. 
Such was her devilish skille ; 150 

Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee. 
And let mee have all my wille. 



tot 



KINO RYENCES CHALLENGE. 



rr 



She witchd my brother to a carliah boon, 

And made him stiffs and stronge ; 
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 155 

To live by rapine and wronge. 



But now the spelle is broken throughe, 
And wronge is turnde to righte ; 

Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye, 
And hee be a gentle knighte. 



160 



III. 



KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. 



This song is more modern than many of those 
which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of 
he subject. It was sung before Queen Elizabeth at 
'he grand entertainment at Kenelworth castle in 
1575, and was probably composed for that occasion. 
In a letter describing those festivities it is thus 
mentioned : A " Minstrel came forth with a sollem 
*ong, warranted for story out of King Arthur's acts, 
whereof I gat a copy, and is this : 

u So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c w 

After the song the narrative proceeds : " At this 
die Minstrell made a pause and a curtesy for Primus 
Passus. More of the song is thear, but I gatt it 
not." 

'ITie story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, 
runs as follows : " Came a messenger hastelv from 
KingRyence of North Wales, saying, that KingRyence 
had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and 
everiche of them did him homage, and that was this : 
they gare him their beards cleane flayne off, — where- 
fore the messenger come for King Arthur's beard, 
for King Ryence had purfeled a mantel] with 
kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of the 
mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he 
would enter into his lands, and brenn and slay, and 
never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. 
Well, said King Arthur, thou hast said thy message, 
which is the most villainous and lewdest message 
that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou 
mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a 
purfell of, but tell thou the king that — or it be long he 
shall do to me homage on both his knees, or else he 
shall leese his head." [B. 1. c. 24. See also the 
same Romance, B. I. c. 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken from 
Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X. c. 3. which is alluded 
to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by 
Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Obser- 
vations on Spenser, voL II. p. 223. 

The following text is composed of the best read- 
ings selected from three different copies. The first 
in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The 
second in the Letter above mentioned. And the 
third inserted in MS. in a copy of Morte Arthur, 
1632, in the Bodl. Library. 

Stow tells us, that King Arthur kept his round 

table at " diverse places, but especially at Carlion, 

Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire." This 

' Camalet," sometimes a famous towne or castle, is 

: situate on a " very high tor or hill, &c." [See an 

exact description inStow's Annals, Ed. 1631, p. 55.] 



As it fell out on a Pentecost day. 

King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royal!, 
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay ; 

And many bold barons sitting in hall ; 

With ladies attired in purple and pall ; 
And heraults in hewkes hooting on high, 
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie *. 

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas 
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee ; 

With steven tulle stoute araids all the preas, 
Sayd, Nowe, sir King Arthur, God save thee, and 

see; 
Sir Ryence of North- gales greeteth well thee, 

And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 
With eleven kings beards bordered f about. 

And there is room lefte yet in a kantle, 

For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out : 
This must be done, be thou never so stout ; 

This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 

Maugre the teeth of all thy round table. 

When this mortal message from his mouthe past, 

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower : 
The king fum'd ; the queene scrtecht; ladies were 
aghast; 
Princes pufTd ; barons blustred ; lords began 

lower ; 
Knights stormed ; squires startled, like steeds in 
a stower ; 
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall, 
Then in came Sir Kay, the ' king's* seneschal. 

Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight, 
And in that stound the stowre began still : 

' Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight ; 
Of wine and wassal he had his wille : 
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill, 

An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold 

Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 



* Largesse, Largesse, The heralds resonnded these words 
as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See 
" Memoires de la Chevalerie," torn I. p. $K> The expresMnn 
is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter. 

t i. e. set round the border, as lurk are now round the gown> 
of Magistrates. 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



Sttf 



1 



Bat say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king, 
That for his hold message I do him defye ; 

\nd short] ve with basins and pans will him ring 
Out of rforth-gales ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 



Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the best harbor; 

And therewith he shook bis good sword Escalabor. 

♦ ♦••*• 

%• Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story 
of the Giant's Mantle, made of the beards of kings. 



IV. 
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



A FRAOMENT. 



The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from 
the old romance " Morte Arthur," but with some 
variations, especially in the concluding stanzas ; in 
which the author seems rather to follow the tradi- 
tions of the old Welsh Bards, who " believed that 
King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by 
the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he 
should remaine for a time, and then returne againe 
and reign in as great authority as ever." Holinshed, 
B. 5, c. 14 ; or, as it is expressed in an old Chroni- 
cle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, 
" The Bretons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall 
come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this 
is the prophicye of Merlyn ; He sayd, that his deth 
shall be doubteous ; and sayd Both, for men thereof 
yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more, — for 
men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede." 
See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on 
Polyolbion, song 3. 

This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect 
in the original MS. hath received some conjectural 
emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4 
stanzas composed from the romance of " Morte 
Arthur." 

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee •• 

Where man) e a knighte cry'd, Well-away e ! 
Alacke, it was the more pittie; 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5 

When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came •, 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare, 

And as you prize your life, this daye 10 

O meet not with your foe in fighte ; 

Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 

For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye knighte : 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15 

And will assist* yee in the fighte. 

The kinge then call'd his nobles all, 

Before the breakinge of the daye ; 
And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came/ 

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20 



• Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on hts 
return from abroad. See the ntxt Ballad, ver. 73. 



His nobles all this counsayle gave/ 

That earlye in the morning, hee 
Sbold send awaye an herauld at armes, 

To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthure chose, 
The best of all that with him were : 26 

To parley with the foe in field, 
And make with him agreement faire. 

The king he charged all his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee : 30 

But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred on the other parte, 
• Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe ; 
The beste of all bis companye, 35 

To hold the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he durste not his unkle truste, 

Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell : 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 

As ere in Christentye befelle. 
■ 

But when they were together mette, 45 

And both to faire accordance broughte ; 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte ; 

An addere crept forth of .a bashe, 

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 51 

As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there j 

His sworde he from his scabberde drewe : 55 
A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, 

They joyned battayle instantlye ; 
Till or so manye noble knightes, 

On one side' there were left but three. 60 



Vcr. 41, 4*. the folio reada father. 



104 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



For all were slain that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye : 

Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde. 

As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partyd, 
Onlye himselfe escaped there, 

And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free, 
And the king's butler Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld bis knightes, 
All dead and scattered on the molde ; 

The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, lie said, 
Soe true and faithful to your trust : 

And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 
Be lefte to moulder into dust ! 

Most loyal hare yee been to mee,* 
Most true and faithful unto deathe : 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 
How freelye could I yiela my breathe ! 

But see the traitor's yet alive, 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade ! 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 

And vengeance mil upon his head. 

O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke j 

stave for love and charitie ; 
Remember what the vision spake. 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee. 

O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight. 

This debt my loyal knights I owe ; 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

1 will avenge them of their foe. 

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, 
And on his horse then mounted hee t 

As his butler holpe him to his horse, 
His bowels gushed to his knee. 

Alas ! then sayd the noble king, 
That I should live this sight to see ! 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 
All for his love in helping mee 1 



1 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



He put his speare into his reste, 
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye j 

Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarue, 
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye. 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 
And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 

The king his speare he through him thrust ; 
And fathom tborow his bodie. 

When Mordered felt the stroke of death, 
And found that he was wounded soe ; 

He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree • 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 

Ere re the duke returned hee. 



105 



110 



115 






125 



130 



135 



140 



Sir Lukyn then he thus bespoke, 

Sir knvghte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde, 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar*, 

That hangs so freelye by my syde : 120 

O take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throwe : 
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree. 

All use of weapons I foregoe. 

And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 

A better neer had valiant knighte, 
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 

Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

With this good fauchion in my bande, 
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come, 
That never more I may thee weelde. 

The duke to the river side he went, 
And there his owne sword in threwe he 

But be kept back Excalibar, 
He kept it back in privitie. 

For all of coleyne was the blade ; 

And all the hilte of precious stone : 
And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte, 

Must such a sword awaye be throwne ? 

Then backe be came unto the kinge, 
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee i 

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free. 

O goe againe, then said the kinge, 

O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into the rivere throwe my sword, 

Nor keepe me lingering here in peine. 

The duke then to the river went, 
And the kings scabbard in threwe hee ; 

But hee kent backe Excalibar, 
And hid it undernethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte t 

Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 
Nowe with the angrye waters fought. 

O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge, 
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 

Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 

When suche a knighte soe false can bee t 

8aye, wouldst thou have thy master dead j 
All for a sword, that wins thine eye : 

Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 
Or here the one of us shall dye. 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke. 

No aunswere made unto the kinge : 
But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 

And threwe it far as he coulde flinge, 

A bande and arme did meete the sworde. 
And flourishd three times in the air; 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke 



145 



150 



155 



160 



165 



170 



• More commonly called Celibmm. 
Acalbird. 



lata* folio MS 




All sore astonied stood the duke ; 

He stood as still, as still mote bee : 
Then hastend backe to tell the kinge ; 

Bat he was gone from under the tree. 

But to what place he cold not tell, 
For nerer after hee did him spye : 



175 



But hee sawe a barge goe from the land. 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye*. 

And whether the kinge were there, or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : 

For from that sad and direfulle daye, 
Hee never more was seene on molde. 



18T 



V. 



THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 



We hare here a short summary of King Arthur's 
History as given by Jeff, of Monmouth and the old 
Chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances 
from the romance Morte Arthur. — The ancient 
chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. JOS) 
seems to have been chiefly followed : upon tne au- 
thority of which we have restored some of the names 
which were corrupted in the MS. and have trans- 

Esed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced, 
u that beginning at v. 49, which in the MS. fol- 
ded r. 36.J 
Printed from the Editor's ancient folio Manuscript. 

Op Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Christendome, and Heathynesae, 

Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 5 

I am a Christyan bore : 
The Father, Sone, and Holy Goat 

One God, I doe adore. 

in the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 

Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my savior Christ his byrth : 

What time I did maintaine. 

The fellowshipp of the table round, 

Soe famous in those dayea ; 
Whereat t a hundred noble knights, 15 

And thirty sat alwayes : 

Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 

As bookes done yett record. 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared throwgh the world* 80 

And in the castle off Tyntagill 

King Uther mee begate 
Of Agvana a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of ' hie' estate. 

And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 

Then was I crowned kinge: 
All Brittaine that was att an uprdre 

I did to quiett bringe. 

Ver. 179, sec MS. 
Ver. 1, Broite, MS. V. V, He began his reign, A. D. 515, 
according to the Chonlclcs. V. S3, She is named Igcrna in [ 
:he old Chronicles. V. 34, his, MS * 



3. 



And drove the Saxons from the realme, 

Who had opprest this land ; 3 

All Scotland then throughe manly feats 
I conquered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway, 

These countryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland ; 

And made their kings my thrall. 

I conquered all Gallya, 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild 

My honor to advance. 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabus 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye, 

By force of armes I slew : 

And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 4.i 

I brought to deadly wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble knightes 

For feare did turne their backe : 

- Five kinges of" paynima" I did kill 

Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour 
Who alsoe lost his line. 

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome 

Cladd poorlye on a beere ; 
And afterward I past Mount-Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 

Right as a conquerour, 
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperour. 60 

Ver. SO, Frobnd Held, MS. Froll, according to the 
Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of GanL V. 4, 
Danibos, MS. V. 40, of Pavye, MS. 

* Not unlike that passage in Virgil : 

Smmmoqve uluianmt vertice nympha. 



Ladiis was the word onr old English writers used for 
Nymphs : As in the following lines of aa eld so 



Editor's folio MS. 



song In tne 



M When scorching Phoebus he did mount,] 
Then Lady Venus went to hunt : 

To whom Diana did resort, 
With all the Ladyes of hill*, and valleys,} 
Of springs, and floode*, ftc." 



-ill HI 



106 



GLASGERION. 



One winter there I made abode : 

Then word to mee was brought 
Howe Mordred bad oppressd the crowne : 

What treason he had wrought 

Att home in Brittaine with my queene ; 6*5 

Therfore I came with speeds 
To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 

To quitt that traitorous deede : 

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 

Where Mordred me withstoode : 70 

But yett at last I landed there, 

With effusion of much blood* 

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed, 

Being wounded in that sore. 
The wbiche Sir Lancelot in fight 75 

Had given him before. 

Thence chased I Mordered away, 

Who fledd to London right, 
From London to Winchester, and 

To Cornewalle tooke his nyght. SO 



And still I him pursued with speed 

Till at the last wee mett : 
Wherby an appointed day of fight 

Was there agreed and sett. 

Where we did fight, of mortal life 85 

Eche other to deprive, 
Till of a hundred thousand men 

Scarce one was left alive. 

There all the noble chivalrye 

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90 

O see how fickle is their state 

That doe on feates depend ! 

There all the traitorous men were slaine, 

Not one escapte away ; 
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes 95 

Alas ! that woefull day ! 

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 

In honor ana great fame ; 
And thus by death was suddenlye 

Deprived of the same. 100 



VI. 



A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE. 



Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library, 
{ Vesp. A. 2J>.] intitled, " Divers things of Hen. viij's 
time." 



Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll. 

Or els against dame nature's kinde 
To ' change' things frame by cunning akyll : 

That man I thinke bestoweth peine, 5 

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele, 
Or ?oeth about to staye the sunne ; 

Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 

Which never can by force be done : 10 

That man likewise bestoweth paine, 

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 



Who thinks to stryve against the streame, 

And for to sayle without a maste ; 
Unlessse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15 

His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 
And so in cure of all his paine, 
His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 

So he lykewise, that goes about 

To please eche eye and every care, 20 

Had nede to have withouten doubt 

A golden gyft with hym to beare ; 
For evyll report shall be his gaine, 
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 

God grant eche man one to amend ; £.*• 

God send us all a happy place j 
And let us pray unto the end, 

That we may have our princes grace *, 
Amen, amen ! so shall we gaine 
A dewe reward for all our peine. SO 



VII. 



GLASGERION. 



An ingenious Friend thinks that the following old 
Ditty (which is printed from the Editor's folio MS.) 
may possibly have riven birth to the Tragedy of the 
" Orphan," in which Polidore intercepts Monunia's 
intended favours to Casmlio. 

See what is said concerning the hero of this song, 
(who is celebrated by Chaucer under the name of 
Glaskynon)inthe Essay prefixed to Series the First, 



V«r. 4, came, MS. 



Glasgemon was a kings owne sonne, 

And a harper he was goode : 
He harped in the lringes chambere, 

Where cuppe and caudle stoode. 

And soe did hee in the queens chamber, .1 

Till ladies waxed ' glad.' 
And then bespake the kinges daughter ; 

And these wordes thus shee sayd. 

Ver. 02, perhapt fates. V. 6, wood. MS* 



GLASGERION. 



«77 



Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne : 10 

Therea never a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne. 

Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee, 

Who taught you nowe to speake ! 
I hare loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere 15 

My minde I neere durst breake. 

But come to my bower, my Glasgerion, 

When all men are att rest : 
As I am a ladie true of my promise, 

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. £0 

Home then came Glasgerion, 

A glad man, lord ! was hee. 
And, come thou hither, Jackemy boy ; 

Come hither unto mee. 

For the kinges daughter of Normandye 85 

Hath granted mee my boone : 
And att her chambere must I bee 

Beffore the cocke have crowen, 

O master, master, then quoth hee, 

Lay your head downe on this stone : 30 

For I will waken you, master deere, 

Afore it be time to gone. 

But up then rose that lither ladd, 

Ana hose and shoone did on : 
A coller he cast upon his necke, 35 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladies chamber. 

He thrild upon a pinn*. 
The lady was true of her promise, 

Rose up and lett him in. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 
To boulster nor to bed ; 

• Nor thoughe hee had his wicked will©, 

A single word he sed.' 

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45 

Nor when he came, nor youd : 
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay. 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd, 

And did off his hose and shoone ; 50 

And cast the coller from off his necke : 

He was but a churles sonne. 

Ver. 16, harte, MS. 

* This is elsewhere expressed ' twirled the pin' or ' titled 
at the pM [See B. II. S. VI. v. 3.] aud seems to refer to the 
turning round the button on the outside of a door, by which 
(he latch rises, still used in cottages. 



Awake, awake, my deere master, 
The cock hath well-nigh crowen. 

Awake, awake, my master deere, 
I bold it time to be gone. 

For 1 hare saddled your horsse, master, 
Well bridled I have your steede : 

And I have served you a good breakfast : 
For thereof ye have need. 

Up then rose, good Glasgerion, 
And did on hose and shoone ; 

And cast a coller about his necke : 
For he was a kinge his sonne. 

And when he came to the ladyes chamber, 

He thrild upon the pinne : 
The ladye was more than true of promise, 

And rose and let him inn. 

Saies, whether have you left with me 
Your bracelett or your glove 1 

Or are you returned backe againe 
To know more of my love ? 

Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 
By oake, and ashe, ana thorne , 

Lady, I was never in your chamber, 
Sith the time that I was borne, 

O then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee. 
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe, 

That hanged by her knee : 

» 

Saves, there shall never noe churles blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
No churles blood shall ever defile 

The daughter of a longe. 

Home then went Gal age r ion, 

And woe, good lord, was hee. 
Saves, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Come hither unto mee. 

If I had killed a man to night, 

Jacke, I would tell it to thee : 
But if I have not killed a man to night, 

Jacke, thou hast killed three. 

And he puld out his bright browne sword, 

A dryed it on his sleeve, ' 
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 

Who did his ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till his brest. 

The pummil untill a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladr 1 , 

These three lives werne all gone. 

Ver. 70. litle, MS. 



55 



60 



05 



70 



8i 



8* 



90 



9* 



100 



SOP 



OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 



VIII. 
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 



From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. 
which was judged to require considerable cor- 
rection*. 

In the former Edition the hero of this pieee had 
been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the 
MS. is now omitted. 

Let never again eoe old a man 

Marrye aoe yonge a wife, 
As did old Robin of Portingale ; 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life. 

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to have lived in lore, 

But they fell to hate and strife; 



They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 
And scarce was hee asleepe, 

But upp ahee rose, and forth she goes, 
To the steward, and gan to weepe. 

Sleepe yon, wake you, faire Sir Gyles t 

Or be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 

Arise and let me inn. 

O, I am waking, sweete, he said, 
Sweete ladye, what is your will? 

I have unbethought me of a wile 
How my wed-lord weell spill. 

Twenty-four good knights, shee saves. 
That dwell about this towne, 

Even twenty-four of my next cozens 
Will helpe to dinge hmvdowne. 

All that beheard his litle footepage, 
As he watered his masters steed ; 

And for his masters sad penile 
Ilia verry heart did bleed. 

He mourned still, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roode 
The tearea he for his master wept 

Were blent water and bloude. 

And that beheard his deare master 
As be stood at his garden pale : 

Saves, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 
What causes thee to wail? 

Hath any one done to thee wronge 

Any of thy fellowes here I 
Or is any of thy good friends dead, ' 

That thou shedst manye a teare 1 



10 



15 



20 



S5 



30 



35 



40 



Ver. 19, nnbethoosht, [properly onbethoaght] this word It 
rtill aicd in the Midland eouotiet In the same tense as be 
'bought. V. n, blend, MS. 



6b 



Or, if it be my head bookes-man. 

Aggrieved he anal bee : 
For no man here within my bowse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee. 

O, it is not your head bookes-man, 45 

Nor none of his degree : 
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone 

All deemed to die are yee. 

And of that bethank your head steward, 

And thank your gay ladie. U> 

If this be true, my title foot-page, 
The heyre of my land thouat bee. 

If it be not true, my dear master, 

No good death let me die. 
If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, ££ 

A dead corse shalt thou lie* 

O call now downe my faire ladye, 

O call her downe to mee : 
And tell my ladye gay how aicke, 

And like to die 1 bee. 60 

Downe then came his ladye faire. 

All clad in purple and pall : 
The rings that were on her fingers. 

Cast light thorrow the hall. 

What is your will, my owne wed-lord ? 

What is your will with mee? 
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 

And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me : 70 

Bat my five maydens and myselfe 
Will « watch thy* bedde for thee. 

And at the waking of your first sleepe, 

We will a hott drinke make : 
And at the waking of your ' next ' sleepe, 7 b 

Your sorrowes we will slake. 

He put a silk cote on his backe, 

And mail of manye a fold : 
And hee putt a Steele cap on his head, 

Was gilt with good red gold. 80 

He layd a bright browne sword by his side. 

And another att his feete : 
" And twentye good knights he placed at hand, 

To watch him in his sleepe." 

And about the middle time of the night, Bo 

Came twentye-four traitoura inn : 
Sir Giles he was the foremost man, 

The leader of that ginn, 



Ver. 47, or to-morrow, MS. V. M, bee, MS. V }S 
make the, MS. V. 75, first, MS, 



CHILD WATERS. 



Oh! Robin with his bright browne sword, 
Sir Gyles head soon did winn : 

And scant of all those twenty-four, 
Went out one quick agenn. 

Nono save only a litle foot-page, 
Crept forth at a window of stone : 

And he had two armes when he came in. 
And he went back witli one. 



90 



Upp then came that ladie gaye 

With torches burning bright : 
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100 

The first thinge that she stumbled on 

It was Sir Gyles his foote : 
Saves, Ever alucke, and * oe is mee ! 

Here lyes my sweeie hart-route. 

The next thinge that she stumbled on 105 

It was Sir Gyles his heade : 
Saves, Ever, alacke, and woe is me ! 

lleere lyes my true love deade. 



Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, 
And did her body spille ; 110 

He cutt the eares beside her heade, 
And bade her love ber fille. 

He called then up his litle foot-page, 

And made him there his heyre ; 
And sayd, henceforth my worldlye goodes 115 

And countrye I forsweare. 

lie shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
Of the white ' clothe' and the redde *, 

And went into the holy land, 

Whereas Christ was quicke and dead. 120 



95 



• • 



I 



In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a 
rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is qualified 
with the title of &Y, not as being a knight, but rather. 
I conceive, as having received an inferior order of 
priesthood. 



IX. 

CHILD WATERS. 



Child is frequently used by our old writers, as a 
Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in 
the " Faerie Queen :" and the son of a king is in the 
same poem called " Child Tristram." [B. 5. c. 11. 
st. 8. 13.— B. 6. c. *. st. 36-— Ibid. c. 8. st. 15.] In 
an old ballad quoted in " Shakspeare's King Lear/' 
the hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr. 
Theobald supposes this use of the word was received 
along with their romances from the Spaniards, with 
whom Infante signifies a " Prince." A more eminent 
jritic tells us, that " in the old times of chivalry, the 
noble you tli, who were candidates for knighthood, 
during the time of their probation were called hi- 
'arts, VarleU, DamoyuU, Bachelien. The most noble 
jf the youth were particularly called lnfans." [ Via 4 . 
Warb. Shakesp.'J A late commentator on Spenser 
observes, that the Saxon word cniht knight, signifies 
also a " Child." [See Upton's Gloss, to the F. Q.] 

The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece 
is taken (with some corrections), affords several 
other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a 
title : but in none of these it signifies " Prince." See 
the song intitled Gill Morrice, in this volume. 

It ought to be observed, that the word Child or 
Chield is still used in North Britain to denominate 
a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character 
affixed to him, but sometimes to denote Man in 
general. 

Cuit.de Waters in his stable stoode 
And stroakt his milke white ateede : 

To him s fayre yonge ladye came 
As ever ware womans weede. 

Saves, Christ you save, good Childe Waters ; 5 

Sayes, Christ you save, and see : 
My girdle of gold that was too longe, 

Is now too short for mee. 



10 



15 



SO 



And all is with one chyld of yours, 

I feele sturre att my side : 
My gowne of greene it is too straighte ; 

Before, it was too wide. 

If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine as you tell mee ; 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire botn, 

Take them your owne to bee. 

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine, as you doe sweare : 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make that child your heyre. 

Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse, 

Child Waters, of thy mouth ; 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

That lye by north and south. 

And I had rather have one twinkling, 25 

Childe Waters, of thine ee : 
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

To take them mine owne to bee. 

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde 

Farr into the north countne j 
The fairest lady that I can find, 

Ellen, must goe with mee. 

' Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 

Yet let me go with thee* : 
And ever I pray you, Child Waters, 

Your foot-page let me bee. 



30 



35 



Vcr. 118, fleshe, MS. V. 13, be inne, MS. 
* Every person, who went on a Croisauk to the Holy 
Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on (he right 
shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Ditiereitt nations 
were distinguished by crosses of different colours : The 
English wore white ; the French red ; &c. This circumstance 
seems to be confounded in the ballad. |V Spelman, Gbu.1 



A 



*lv> 



CHILD WATERS. 



If you will my foot-page be, Ellen, 

As you doe tell to mee ; 
Then you must cut your gowne of 

An inch above your knee : ~ 40 

Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes. 

An inch above your ee : 
You must tell no man what is my name ; 

My foot-page then you shall bee. 

Shoe, all the long day Child Waters rode, 45 

Ran barefoote by nis side ; 
Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte, 

To say, Ellen, will yon ryde ? 

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 

Ran barefoote thorow the broome ; 50 

Yett hee was never soe curteoue, a knighte, 
To say, put on your shoone. 

Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters, 

Why doe you ryde soe fast 7 
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 

My bodye itt will brast. 

Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme.— 

I trust to God, O Child Waters, 

You never will see* mee swimme. 60 

But when shee came to the waters side, 

8hee sayled to the chinne : 
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, 

Now must I learne to swimme. 65 

The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 

Our Ladye bare upp her chinne : 
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 

To see faire Ellen swimme. 

And when shee over the water was, 

8bee then came to his knee : 70 

He said, Come hither, thou mire Ellen, 

Loe yonder what I see. 

Seest tbou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
Of twenty foure faire ladyea there, 75 

The fairest is my mate. 

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the towre : 
There are twenty four (aire ladyea there, 

The fairest is my paramoure. 80 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your worthy© mate. 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 85 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your paramoure. 

There twenty four fayre ladyes were 

A playing att the ball : '90 

And Ellen the fairest ladye there, 

Must bring his steed to the stall. 

Ver. 84, woMlye, MS. 
* i. e. permit, anSrr, Ac 



There twenty four fayre ladyes were 

A playinge at the obesse ; 
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, 95 

Must bring his horse to gresse. 

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 

These were the wordes said shee : 
You have the prettyest foot-page, brother. 

That ever I saw with mine ee. 100 

But that his bellye it is soe bigg, 

His girdle goes wondrous hie : 
And let him, I pray you, Childe Waters, 

Goe into the chamber with mee. 

It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 

That has run through© mosse and myre, 

To go into the chamber with any ladye, 
That weares soe riche attyre. 

It is more meete for a little foot-page, 

That has run throughe mosse and myre, 110 

To take his supper upon his knee, 
And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer. 

But when they had supped every one, 

To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 
He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, 115 

And hearken what I saye. 

Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 

And low into the street ; 
The fayrest ladye that tbou can finde, 

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, ISO 

And take her up in thine armes twaine. 

For filinge* of her feete. 

Ellen is gone into the towne, 

And low into the streete : 
The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 1*5 

Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe ; 
And tooke her up in her armes twuyne, 

For filing of her feete. 

I pray you nowe, good Childe Waters, 

Let mee lye at your bedds feete : 
For there is noe place about this house, ISO 

Where I may sayef a sleepe. 

' He gave her leave, end faire Ellin 

•Down at his beds feet lay :' 
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 

And when it was neare the daye, 

Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page, 

Give my steede corne and haye; 
And soe doe thou the good black oats, 

To carry mee better awaye. 140 

Up then rose the faire Ellen, 

And gave his steede corne and hay ; 

And soe shee did the good blacke oates, 
To carry him the better away. 

Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 145 

And grievouslye did groane : 
She leaned her back to the manger side, 

And there shee made her moane. 



• i. e. dealing. See Wartoo't Obwnr. voL II. p. 198. 

♦ 1. e. cttay, attempt. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



¥11 



And that beheerd his mother deere, 

Shee heard her there monand*. 150 

Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Waters, 

I think thee a cursed man. 

For in thy stable is a ghost, 

That grievously© doth grone : 
Or else some woman labours of childe 155 

Shee is soe woe-begone, 

"Up then rose Childe Waters soon, 

And did on his shirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes, 

On his body as white as milke. 160 



And when be came to the stable dore. 

Full still there he did stand, 
That hee might© hears his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shee made her monand. 

She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child, 

Lullabye, dere child, dere ; 
I wold thy father were a king, 

Thy mother layd on a biere. 

Peace now, hee said, good fair© Ellen, 

Be of good cheere, I praye ; 
And the bridal and the churching both 

Shall bee upon one day. 



165 



170 



X. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



This Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in 
the Editor's possession, written in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth. Another Copy of it, containing some 
variations, is reprinted in the Muses Library, p. 295, 
from an ancient miscellany, intitled England's Heli- 
con, 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a 
writer of some fame in the reign of Elisabeth ; who 
also published an interlude intitled " An old man's 
lesson and a young man's love," 4to. and many 
other little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of 
which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames'Typog, and 
Osborne's HarL Catalog. &c. — He is mentioned with 
rreat respect by Meres, in his second part of "Wit's 
Commonwealth," 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in 
Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," Act 2. 
tnd again in "Wit without Money," Act 3.— See 
Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. III. p. 103. 

The present Edition is improved by a copy in 
'« England's Helicon," vol. Ill, edit 1614, 8vo. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye. 
With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe ' I yode* forsooth a maying : 

When anon by a wood side, 5 

Where as Maye was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, god wot ; 

He wold love, and she wold not 10 

She sayde, never man was trewe ; 

He sayes, none was false to you. 

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe : 
She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then : 15 

8he sayes, maydes must kisse no men, 

Tvll they doe for pood and all. 

When she made the shepperde call 

All the heavens to wytnes truth©, 

Never loved a truer you the. 20 



Ver. 4, the wode, MS. 
9 Sic in MS. L c moaniiiK, bemoaning, Ac. 



Then with manie a prettie othe, 
- Yea and nay, and faith and trothe ; 
Suche as seelie shepperdes use 
When they will not love abuse ; 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 

Was with kisses sweets concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the lady of the Maye. 

t*t The foregoing little pastoral of " Phillida and 
Corydon" is one of the songs in " The Honourable 
Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in 
Progress© at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. 
the Earle of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by 
Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet, 

" The thirde daies Etertainment 

" On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her 
Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, 
ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised 
in auncient country attire, did greete ber with a plea- 
sant song of ' Corydon and Phillida/ made in 3 parts 
of purpose. The song, as well for the worth or the 
dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it 
pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sune to 
command it againe, and highly to grace it with h« r 
cheerefuU acceptance and commendation. 

" The Plowman's Song. 



n 



In the merrie month of May, &$c. 1 



The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's 
reign is no where more strongly painted than in these 
little diaries of some of her summer excursions to the 
houses of her nobility ; nor could a more acceptable 
present be given to the world, than a republication 
of a select number of such details as this of the en- 
tertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, etc., 
&&, which so strongly mark the spirit of the times, 
and present us with scenes so very remote from mo- 
dern manners. 

%• Since the above was written, the Public hath 
been gratified with a most complete work on the 
foregoing subject, intitled, " The Progresses and 
Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. by 
John Nichols, F. A. S. Edinb. and Perth, 1788," 3 
vols, 4to. 

2 p 



tit 



LITTLE MU8GRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 



XL 



LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 



This ballad is ancient, and has been popular ; we 
tind it quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and 
Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to, 1613, 
Act 5. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649, Act 4, 
&c. In Sir William Davenan/s play, " The Witts," 
Act 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself: 

" Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave, 
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me." 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. III. p. 314, is an 
imitation of tnis old song, in 33 stanzas, by a more 
modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently 
for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in the 
British Museum, with corrections ; some of whjch 
are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is 
also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous 
Poems. 

As it fell out on a highe holye daye, 

As many bee in the yeare, 
When rong men and maides together do goe, 

Their masses and mattina to heare, 

Little Musgrare came to the church door, 5 

The priest was at the mass ; 
But be had more mind of the fine women, 

Then he had of our Ladyes grace. 

And some of them were clad in greene, 

And others were clad in pall ; 10 

And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife, 
The fairest among them all. 

Sbee cast an eye on little Musgrare 
As bright as the summer sunne : 

then bethought him little Musgrare, 15 
This ladyes heart 1 hare wonne. 

Quoth she, I hare lored thee, little Musgrare, 

Fulle long and manye a daye. 
So have I lored you, ladye faire, 

Yet word I nerer durst saye. SO 

1 hare a bower at Bucklesford-Bury*, 

Full daintilye bedight, 
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrare, 
Thoust lig in mine armes all night. 

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25 

This kindness yee shew to mee ; 
And whether it be to my weale or woe, 

This night will I lig with thee. 

All this beheard a litle foot-page, 

By his ladyes coach as he ranne : SO 

Quoth he, thougbe 1 am my ladyes page, 

Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne. 



• Bucktyeld-Urrp, fol. MS. 



My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this, 

Although I lose a limbe. 
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35 

He layd him downe to swimme. 

Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 

As thou art a man of life, 
Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 

Litle Musgrare's in bed with thy wife. 40 

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page. 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 

All hanged shalt thou bee. 

Rure up, rise up, my merry men all, 

And saddle me my good steede ; 50 

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury ; 

God wott, I had nerer more neede. 

Then some they whistled, and some they sang. 

And some did loudlye saye, 
Whenerer Lord Barnardes home it blewe, 55 

Awaye, Musgrare, away. 



Methinkes I beare the throstle cocke, 

Methinkes I beare the jay, 
Methinkes I beare Lord Barnards borne ; 

1 would I were awaye. 



ll 



60 



Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrare, 

And huggle me from the cold ; 
For it is but some shephardes boye 

A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 
Thy horse eating corne and haye ? 

And thou a gay lady within thine armes : 
And wouldst thou be awaye 1 

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore, 

And lighted upon a stone : 
And he pulled out three silrer keyes, 

And opened the dores eche one. 

He lifted up the corerlett, 

He lifted up the sheete ; 
How now, how now, thou little Musgrare, 

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete 1 

I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrare, 
The more is my griefe and paine ; 

Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes 
That 1 were on yonder plaine. 

Vcr. 04, Is tvliiftllug sheepe ore tbe mold, fol. MS. 



65 



70 



75 



80 



r«- >- 



THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. 



.213 



Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, 

And put thy closthes nowe on, 
It shall never he said in my countree, 

That I killed a naked mail. 

I hare two swordes in one scabbarde, 85 

Full deare they cost my purse ; 
And thou shalt have the beat of them, 

And I will have the worse. 

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke. 
He hurt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 

The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke, 
Little Musgrave never strucke more. 

With that hespake the ladye fairs, 

In bed whereas she laye, 
Althouglie thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 95 

Yet for the I will praye : 

And wishe well to thy soule will I, 

So long as I have life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100 

He cut her pappes from off her brest ; 

Great pitye it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Run trickling downe her knee. 



Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105 
You never were borne for my goode : 

Why did you not offer to stay my bande, 
When you sawe me wax so woode? 



For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, 

That ever rode on a steede ; 110 

So have I done the fairest lady, 
That ever ware womans weede. 



A grave, a grave. Lord Barnard cryde, 

To putt these lovers in ; 
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 15 

For shee comes o' the better kin. 



Ht That the more modern copy is to be dated 
about the middle of the last century, will be readily 
conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, 
viz. 

" This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought; 

Then let ns call for Grace 
That we may shun the wicked vice, 

And fly from Sin a-pace." 



XII. 
THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. 



A SCOTTISH BOKO. 



This sonnet appears to he ancient : that and its 
iraplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a 
[>luce here. 

Will se gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 

And wear in the sheip wi' mee ? 
The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
O Marion's a bonnie lass ; 5 

And the blyth blinks in her ee : 
And rain wad I marrie Marion, 

Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 



Theire's gowd in sour garters, Marion ; 

And siller on sour white hauss-bane*: 
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion 

At eene quhan I cum name. 



10 



• Haun-baa*, L e. The neck-bone. Marion had probably 
a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an 
n«nal ornament in Scotland ; where a tore throat i» called 
" a tair haute," property haUe, 



Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
Quba gape and glowr wi' their ee 

At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; 
Bot nane of them lues like mee. 

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, 

A cow and a brawney quay ; 
Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 

Just on her bridal day. 
And sees get a grain sey apron. 

And waistcote o' London broun ; 
And wow bot ze will be vaporing 

Quhaneir se gang to the toun. 

line yong and stout, my Marion, 

None dance lik mee on the greine ; 
And gin le forsak me, Marion, 

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
Sae put on sour pearlins, Marion* 

And kirtle otlr cramasie, . 

And sune as my chin has nae haire on, 

I sail cum west, and see zee. 



15 



SO 



V> 



f14 



THE KNIGHTS AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 



XIII. 



THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 



This ballad (given from an old black-letter Copy, 
with some corrections) was popular in the time of 
Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed with her 
picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface 
to " GuL Neubrig, Hist, Oxon, 1719, 8vo, voL I, 
p. lxx." It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the 
Pilgrim, Act 4, sc 1. 

There was a shepherds daughter 

Came tripping on the waye ; 
And there by chance a knighte shee mett, 

Which caused her to staye. 

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5 

These words pronounced hee : 
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd f 

If Ire not my wille of thee. 

The Lord forbid, the maide replyde, 

That you ahold waxe so wode ! 10 

* But for all that shee could do or saye, 

He wold not be withstood.' 

8ith you hare had your wille of mee, 

And put me to open shame, 
Now, it you are a courteous knighte, 15 

Tell me what is your name 1 

Some do call mee JacVe, sweet heart, 

And some do call mee Jille ; 
But when I come to the kings faire courte 

They call me Wilfulle Wille. f 

He sett his foot into the stirrup, 

And awaye then he did ride ; 
She tuokt her girdle about her middle, 

And ranne close by his side. 

But when she came to the brode water, f 5 

She sett her brest and swamme ; 
And when she was got out againe, 

She tooke to her heels and ranne. 

He never was the courteous knighte, 

To saye, faire maide, will ye ride ? SO 

And she was ever too loving a maide 
To saye, sir knighte abide. 

When she came to the kings faire courte, 

She knocked at the ring ; 
So readye was the king himself 35 

To let this faire maide in. 

Now Christ you save, my {gracious liege, 

Now Christ yon save and see, 
You Lave a knighte within your courte 

This daye hath robbed mee. 40 

What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart 1 

Of purple or of pall 1 
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring 

From off iby finger small 7 



He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 4-~ 

Of purple nor of pall : 
But he hath gotten my maiden head, 

Which grieves mee worst of alL 

Now if he be a batchelor, 

His bodye He give to thee j 5< 

But if he be a married man, 

High banged be shall bee. 

He called downe his merrye men all, 

By one, by two, by three ; 
Sir William used to bee the first. So 

But oowe the last came hee. 

He brought her downe full fortye pound*, 

Tyed up withinne a glove : 
Faire maide. Be give the same to thee; 

Go, seeke thee another love. 60 

lie have none of your gold, Bhe sayde, 
Nor He have none of your fee ; 

Butyour faire bodye I must have. 
The king hath granted mee. 

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65 

Five hundred pound in golde, 
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee, 

Thy mult will never be tolde. 

Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt, 
These words then answered shee, 70 

But your own bodye I must have, 
The king hath granted mee. 

Would I had dranke the water cleare. 

When I did drinke the wine, 
Rather than any shepherds brat Tb 

Shold bee a utdye of mine 1 

Would I had drank the puddle foule, 

When I did drink the ale, 
Rather than ever a shepherds brat 

Shold tell me such a tale 1 80 

A shepherds brat even as I was, 
You mote have let me bee, 

1 never bad come othe kings faire courte, 
To crave any love of thee. 

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 

And himself upon a grave ; 
He hung a bugle about his necke, 

And soe they rode awaye. 



Ver. 60, Hit bodye He give to thee.] Tab wu agreeable 
to the feudal cnatom* : 1*he lord had a right to gire ■ wife 
to hit vaasab. Sec Shak»|ieare , « " Afl't well, that ends well " 



- 



1^ 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR. 



But when they came unto the place, 
Where marriage-rites were aone, 

She proved herself a dukes daughter, 
And he hut a squires sonne. 

Now marrye me, or not, sir knight, 

Your pleasure shall be free: 
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 

lie make you lord of three. 



Ah ! cursed bee the gold, be sayd, 
If thou had st not been trewe, 

I shold have forsaken my sweet love, 
And have changed her for a newe. 



90 



95 



And now their hearts being linked fast, 
They joyned hand in hande : 

Thus he bad both purse, and person too, 
And all at his commande. 



S15 



iOO 



XIV. 



THE SHEPHERDS ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. 



This Poem, originally printed from the small MS 
volume mentioned above in No. X. has been im- 
proved by a more perfect copy in " England's 
Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N. 
Breton. 

Good Muse, rocke me aslope 

With some sweete harmony : 
This wearie eyes is not to kepe 

Thy wary company. 

Sweete Love, begon a while, 5 

Thou seest my heavines : 
Beautie is borne but to beguyle 

My harte of happines. 

See howe my little flocke, 

That lovde to feede on highe, 10 

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke, 

And in the valley dye. 

The bushes and the trees, 

That were so freshe and greene, 

Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15 

And not a leafe is seene. 

The blacke birde and the thrushe, 
That made the woodes to riuge, 

With all the rest, are now at hushe, 
And not a note they singe. 20 



Swete PhQomele, the birde 
That hath the heavenly throte, 

Doth nowe, alas! not once affofde 
Recordinge of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost, 
The herbs have loste their savoure ; 

And Phillida the faire hath lost 
4 For me her wonted* favour. 



Thus all these careful sights 

So kill me in conceit: 
That now to hope upon delights, 

It is but meere deceite. 



And therefore, my sweete muse, 
That knowest what helpe is best. 

Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 
To sett my harte at rest : 



And in a dreame bewraie 

What fete shal be my firende; 

Whether my life shall still decaye. 
Or when my sorrowes ende. 



2j 



60 



35 



40 



XV. 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR, 



is given (with corrections) from an ancient 

copy in black letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled, 
" A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of Lord 
Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall 
of the browne girl." — In the same collection may be 
seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and 
reduce it to a different measure : a proof of its 
popularity. 

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrrester, 

And a chaser of the kings deere ; 
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman, 

And Lord Thomas he loved his dears. 



Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 5 

And riddle us both as one ; 
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 

And let the browne girl alone ? 

The browne girl she has got bouses and lands, 
Faire Ellinor she has eot none, 10 

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
To bring me the browne girl home. 

And as it befelle on a high holidaye, 

As many there are beside. 
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 15 

That should have been her bride. 



V — 



^3 



<16 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 



And when he came to (aire Ellinors bower, 

He knocked there at the ring, 
And who was so ready as faire Ellinor, 

To lett Lord Thomas withinn. 



20 



What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas, she sayd? 

What newes dost thou bring to mee 1 
I am come to bid thee to my wedding, 

And that is bad news for thee. 

God forbid, Lord Thomas she sayd, 25 
That such a thing should be done ; 

1 thought to have been the bride my selfe, 

And thou to have been the bridegrome. 

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd, 
And riddle it all in one ; 30 

Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding, 
Or whether shall tarry at home? 

There are manye that are your friendes, daughter, 

And manye a one your foe, 
Therefore 1 charge you on my blessing, 35 

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe. ' 

There are manye that are ray friendes, mother ; 

But were every one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

To Lord Thomas his wedding Hd goe. 40 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 
And her merrye men all in greene ; 

And as they rid through every towne, 
They took her to be some queene. 

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 45 

She knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so readye as Lord Thomas, 

To lett faire Ellinor in. 



Is tins your bride, fair Ellinor sayd ? 

Methinks she looks wonderous browne ; 50 
Thou mi gh test have had as faire a woman, 

As ever trod oh the grounde. 

Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd. 

Despise her not unto mee ; 
For better I love thy little finger, 55 

Than all her whole bodee. 

This browne bride had a little penknife, 

That was both long and sharpe. 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long, 

She prick'd faire Ellinor'* harte. 60 

O Christ thee save, Lord Thomas, hee sayd, 
Methinks thou lookst wondrous wan ; 

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour, 
As ever the sun shone on. # 

Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas ? she sayd, 65 

Or canst thou not very well see J 
Oh ! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 

Run trickling down my knee. 

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side ; 

As he walked about the halle, 70 

He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,, 

And threw it againrf the walle. 

He set the hilte against the grounde, 

And the point aginst his harte. 
There never three lovers together did meete, 75 

That sooner agaiue did parte. 

%• The reader will find a Scottish song on & 
sim lar subject to this, towards the end of this 
volume, intitled, " Lord Thomas and Lady Annet." 



XVI. 
CUPID AND CAJVIPASPE. 



This elegant little sonnet is found m the third, act 
of an old play, intitled, " Alexander and Campaspe," 
written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first 
printed in 1591 : but this copy is given from a later 
edition. 

Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 



Ver. 29, It should probably be Keade me, read, Ac L e. 
Advue me, advise. 



He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows. 

His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lippe, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), 

With these, the crystal of his browe, 

And then the dimple of his chinne ; 

All these did my Campaspe winne. 

At last he set her both his eyes. 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of meet 



THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 217 


XVII. 


THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 


is given from a written copy, containing some 

improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the 
popular ballad, intitled, "The famous flower of 
Serving-men ; or the Lady turned Serving-man/' 


Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 

To wait upon my nobles all ? 50 

Or wilt be taster of my wine, 

To 'tend on me when I shall dine 1 


You beauteous ladyes, great and small, 
I write unto you one and all, 
Whereby, that you may understand 
What I have suffered in the land. 


Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine. 

About my person to remaine 1 

Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 55 

And I will give thee great reward ? 


I was by birth a lady faire, 5 
An ancient barons only heire, 
And when my good old father dyed, 
Then I became a young knightes bride. 


Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place. 

Then I reply'd, If it please your grace 

To shew such favour unto mee, 

Your chamberlaine I faine would bee. 60 


And there my love built me a bower, 
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower } 10 
A braver bower you ne'er did see 
Then my true love did build for mee. 


The king then smiling gave consent, 
And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfuilie, 
That bee great favour showd to mee. 


And there I livde a ladye gay, 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a band, 15 

That soon thev over-run the land. 


Now marke what fortune did provide ; 65 
The king he would a hunting ride 
With all his lords and noble traine, 
Sweet William must at home remaine. 


They came upon us in the night, 1 

Ana brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 

And trembling hid in mans array 

I scant with life escap'd away. 20 


Thus being left alone behind, 

My former state came in my mind : 70 

I wept to see my mans array ; 

No longer now a ladye gay. 


In the midst of this extremitle, 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I left myself alone, 
With heart more cold than any stone. 


And meeting with a ladyes vest, 

Within the same myself I drest ; 

With silken robes and jewels rare, 75 

I deckt me, as a ladye raire : 


Yet though my heart was full of care, 25 
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire, 
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
From fair Elise, to sweet Williaine: 


And taking up a lute straitwaye, 

Upon the same I strove to play ; 

And sweetly to the same did sing, 

As made both hall and chamber ring. 80 


And therewithall I cut my haire, 

Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ; SO 

And in my beaver, hose and band, 

I travelTd far through many a land. 


" My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady bright : 
My husband was a valiant knight : 


At length all wearied with my toil, 

I sate me down to rest awhile ; 

My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35 

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 


" And I myself a ladye gay 85 

Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array ; 

The happiest lady in the land 

Had not more pleasure at command. 


It chanc'd the king of that same place 

With all his lords a hunting was, 

And seeing me weepe, upon the same 

Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40 


" I had my musicke every day 

Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 

I bad my virgins fair and free 

Continually to wait on mee. 


Then to his grace I did replye, 
I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee 
A serving-man of lowe degree. 


" But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 

And all my friends are from me fled, 

My former days are past and gone, 95 

And I am now a serving-man." 


Stand up, mire youth, the king reply'd, 45 
For thee a service I'll provyde ; 
But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. 


And fetching .many a tender sigh, 

As thinking no one then was nigh, 

In pensive mood I laid me lowe, 

My heart was full, the tears did flowe. IOC 



218 



GIL MORRICE. 



The king, who had a huntinge gone,, 
Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
And leaving all his gallant traine, 
Turn'd on the sudden home againe : 

And when he reach 'd his statelye tower, 105 
Hearing one sing within his bower, 
He stopt to listen, and to see 
Who sung there so melodioustfe. 

Thus heard he everye word I sed, 

And saw the pearlye teares I shed, 110 

And found to his amazement there, 

Sweete William was a ladye faire. 

Then stepping in, Faire ladye rise, 

And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes. 

For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115 

The which shall turn to thy availa. 

A crimson dye my face orespred, 

I blusht for shame and hung my head. 



125 



To find my sex and story known*, 

When as I thought I was alone. ISO 

But to be briefe, his royall grace 
Grewe so enamour'd of my face. 
The richest gifts be proffered mee, ' 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

Ah ! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, 

I'll rather m my grave be layd, 

And though your grace hath won my heart, 

I ne'er will act soe base a part. 

Faire ladye, pardon me, sard hee, 

Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, ISO 

And since it is soe fairly tryde 

Thou shalt become my royal bride. 

Then strait to end his amorous strife, 

He tooke sweet William to his wife. 

The like before was never seene, 136 

A serving-man became a qutene. 



XVIII. 
GIL MORRICE. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



The following piece hath run through two editions 
in Scotland : the second was printed at Glasgow in 
1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertise- 
ment, setting forth that the preservation of this 
poem was owing "to a lady, who favoured the 
printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected 
from the mouths of old women and nurses j" and 
" any reader that can render it more correct or com- 
plete," is desired to oblige the public with such im- 
provements. In consequence of this advertisement, 
sixteen additional verses have been produced and 
Handed about in manuscript, which are here in- 
serted in their proper places : (these are from verse 
109 to verse 121, and from verse 124 to verse 129, 
but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpo- 
lation.) 

As this poem lavs claim to a pretty high antiquity, 
we have assigned it a place among our early pieces : 
though, after all, there is reason to believe it has 
received very considerable modern improvements : 
for in the Editor's ancient MS collection is a very 
old imperfect copy of the same ballad : wherein 
though the leading features of the story are the 
same, yet the colouring here is so much improved 
and heightened, and so many additional strokes are 
thrown in, that it is evident the whole has under- 
gone a revisal. 

N.B. The Editor's MS. instead of "Lord Bar- 
nard/' has " John Stewart ;" and instead of " Gil 
Morrice," " Child Maurice," which last is probably 
the original title. See above, p. 209. 

Gil Morrice was an erles son, 

His name it waxed wide ; 
It was nae for his great riches, 

Nor set his mickle pride ; 
Dot it was for a lady gay, 5 

That livd on Cairo n side. 



Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to Lord Barnards ha'. 

And bid his lady cum ? 10 

And ze maun rin my errand, Willie ; 

And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horse-back so sail ride. 

O no ! Oh no ! my master dear ! 15 

I dare nae for my life ; 
111 no gae to the bauld barons, 

For to triest furth his wife. 
My bird Willie, my boy Willie ; 

My dear Willie, he sayd : 80 

How can ze strive against the stream ? 

For I sail be obeyd. 

Bot, O my master dear ! he cryd, 

In grene wod se're sour lain ; 
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 

For fear ze should be tain. 
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha*, 

Bid hir cum here wi speid : 
If ze refuse my heigh command, 

111 gar sour body bleid. 30 

Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 

'Tis a* gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode. 

And bring nane bot hir lain : 
And there it is, a silken sarke, S5 

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive j 
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 

Ver. 11, something teems wanting here. V. 31, •*.<. 68, 
perhaps, 'boat the hem. 



GIL M0RR1CE, 



219 



Yea, I will gae sour black errand, 

Though it be to sour cost ; 
Sen se by me will nae be warn'd, 

In it se sail find firost. 
The baron he is a man of might, 

He neir could bide to taunt, 
As se will see before its nicht, 

How sma' se hae to vaunt. 

And sen I maun sour errand rin 

Sae sair against my will ; 
I'se mak a tow and kelp it trow, 

It sail be done for ill. 
And quhen he came to broken brigue, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And quhen be came to crass growing, 

Set down his feet and ran. 

And quhen he came to Barnards ha'. 

Would neither chap nor ca': 
Pot set his bent bow to his breist, 

And lichtly lap the wa'. 
He wauld -nae tell the man his errand, 

Though he stude at the gait ; 
Bot straiht into the ba v he cam, 

Quhair they were set at meit. 

Hail ! hail t my gentle sire and dame ! 

My message winna waite ; 
Dame, se maun to the gude grene wod 

Before that it be late. 
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a* gowd bot the hem : 
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode, 

Ev'n by your sel aline. 

And there it is, a silken sarke, 

Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice : 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
The lady stamped wr* hir foot, 

And winked wi' hir ee ; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do, 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

Its surely to my bow'r-womdn ; 

It neir could be to me. 
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow that se be ahe. 
Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 

(The bairn upon hir knee) 
If it be cum rrae Gill Morice, 

It's deir welcum to mee. 

Ze leid, se leid, se filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird se lee ; 
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow se be nae ahee. 
Then up and spack the bauld baron. 

An angry man was bee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 

Sae has be wi' his knee ; 
Till siller cup and * mazer*" dish 

In flinders he gard flee. 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



Vet. 58, Could this be the wall of the caatlef V. 88, Per- 
fcaw, load ht I heire. 
* i. e. a drinking cap of maple : other Edit, read ttar. 



Gae bring a robe of sour eliding, 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And 111 gae to the gude grene wode, 

And speik wi' sour lemman. 100 

O bide at heme, now Lord Barnard, 

I warde se bide at heme ; 
Neir wyte a man for violence, 

That neir wate se wi' nane. 

Gil Morice state in gude grene wode, 10. 1 , 

He whistled and he sang : 
O what mean a' the folk coming, 

My mother tarries lang. 
His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne free Minerva's loome : IK 

His lipps like roses drapping dew, 

His breath was a' perfume. 

His brow was like the mountain snae 

Gilt by the morning beam : 
His cheeks like living roses glow : 11. 

His een like azure stream. 
The boy was clad in robes of grene, 

Sweete as the infant spring : 
And like the mavis on the bush, 

He gait the rallies ring. 1 2< 

The baron came to the grene wode, 

Wi' miokle dule and care, 
And there he first spied Gill Morice 

Kameing his sellow hair* 
That sweetly wavd around his face, 12S 

That face beyond compare : 
He sang aae sweet it might dispel 

A' rage but fell despair. 

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, 

My lady loed thee weel, lJo 

The fairest part of my bodie 

Is blacker than thy heel. 
Zet neir the less now, GUI Morice, 

For a' thy mat beautie, 
Ze's rew the day seeir was born; 135 

That head sail gae wi' me. 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

And slaited on the strae ; 
And thro' GUI Morice' fair body 

He'a gar oauld iron gae. 14G 

And he has tain Gill Morice' head 

And set it on a speir ; 
The meanest man in a* bis train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted bowr, 

And laid him on a bed. 
The lady sat on castil wa', 

Beheld baith dale and doun ; 150 

And there she saw Gill Morice' head 

Cum trailing to the toun. 

Far better I loe that bluidy head, 

Both and that sellow hair, 
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155 

As they lig here and thair. 



Ver. IS*. So Milton, 

Vernal delight and Joy : ab!e to drive 
AH aadneaa bot despair. B. iv. 



155 



«*0 



THE LEGEND OF 8IR GUY. 



And she has tain her Gill Morice, 
And kissd baith mouth and chin : 

I was once as fow of Gill Morice, 

As the hip is o' the stean. 160 

I got se in my father's house, 

Wi' raickle sin and shame ; 
I brocht thee up in glide grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 165 

And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
But now I gae about thy grave, 

The saut tears for to weip. 

And syne she kissd his bluidy choik, 

And syne his bluidy chin : 
O better I loe my Gilt Morice 

Than a' my kith and kin f 
Away, away, se ill woman, 

And an if deith mait ze dee : 
Gin I had kend he'd bin sour son, 175 

He'd neir bin slain for mee. 

Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard ! 

O braid me not for shame ! 
Wi' that saim sjfeir O pierce my heart 1 

And put me out o' pain. 180 

Since nothing bot Gill Morice head 

Thy jelous rage could quell, 
Let that saim hand now tak hir life, 

That neir to thee did ilL 

To me nne after days nor nichta 185 

Will eir be saft or kind ; 
I'll fill the oir with heavy sighs, 

And greet till I am blind* 



Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt. 

Seek not sour death frae mee ; 19C 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 

Than eather him or thee. 

With waefo wae I hear zour plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gard his body bleid. 
Dry up sour tears, my winsome dame, 

Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
Ze see his bead upon the speir, 

His heart's blude on the giound. 900 

I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me wi' silk speii, 

The oomely south to kill. 
Ill ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine ain ; 
111 neir forget the dreiry day 

On which the south was slain. 

%• This little pnthetic tale suggested the plot of 
the tragedy of " Douglas." 

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been 
assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in 
many parts of Scotland, where the hero is univer- 
sally known by the name of" Child Maurice," pro- 
nounced by the common people Chtild or Cheeld ; 
which occasioned the mistake. 

It may be proper to mention, that other copies 
read ver. 110 thus : 



«« 



Shot frae the golden sun." 
And ver 116 as follows : 

" His eon like azure sheene.*' 



THE END OF TUB FIB8T BOOK. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 



BOOK IL 



I. 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY 



— contains a short summary of the exploits of this 
famous champion, as recorded in the old story books ; 
and is commonly intitled, " A pleasant song of the 
valiant deeds of chivalry achieved by that noble 
knight Sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of 
fair Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of 
craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick." 

The history of Sir Guy, though now very pro- 
perly resigned to children, was once admired by all 
readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit had 
once their childhood. Although of English growth, 
it was early a favourite with other nations*: it ap- 



peared in French in 1525 ; and is alluded to j& *he 
old Spanish romance Tirante el bianco, which, it is 
believed, was written not long after the year 1430. 
See advertisement to the French translation, 3 vols. 
12mo. 

The original whence all these stories are ex- 
tracted is a very ancient romance in old English 
verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated 
piece even in his time, (viz.) 

" Men speken of romances of price, 

Of Home cbildeand Ippotis, 

Of Bevis, and Sir Guy, &c." H. of Thop ) 



i 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 



S21 



and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas din- 
ners and brideales, as we learn from Puttenham's 
Art of Poetry, 4to. 1589. 

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An 
imperfect copy in black letter, " Imprynted at Lon- 
don for Wylliara "Copland," in 34 sheets 4to. 

without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's 
collection of old plays. Asa specimen of the poetry 
of this antique rhymer, take his description of the 
dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the following ballad: 

— " A messenger came to the king. 

Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 

For bad tydinges I bring you, 

In Northumberlanrie there is no man, 

But that they be slayne every chone : 

For there dare no man route, 

By twenty myle rounde aboute, 

For doubt of a fowle dragon, 

That sleath men and beastes downe. 

He is blacke as any cole 

Rugged as a rough fole ; 

His bodye from the navill upwarde 

No man may it pierce it is so harde ; 

His neck is great as any summere ; 

He renneth as awifte as any distrere ; 

Pawes be hath as a lyon : 

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. 

Great winges he hath to flight, 

That is no man that bare bun might. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 

But that be sleath him certayne : 

For a fowler beast then is he, 

Ywis of none never heard ye.*' 

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of 
Guy is not wholly apocryphal, though he acknow- 
ledges the monks have sounded out his praises too 
hvperbolicolly. In particular, he gives the duel fought 
with the Danish champion as a real historical truth, 
and fixes the date of it in the year 926, aetat Guy 
67. See his Warwickshire. 

The following is written upon the same plan as 
ballad V. Book I. but whiih is the original, and 
which the copy, cannot be decided. This song is 
ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved 
in the margin, ver. 94. 102 : and was once popular, 
as appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burning 
Pestle, Act 2. sc. ult. 

It is here published from an ancient MS copy in 
the Editor's old folio volume, collated with two 
printed ones, one of which is in black letter in the 
Pepys collection. 

Was ever knight for ladyes sake 

Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy 
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright 

As ever man beheld with eye 1 

She gave me leave myself to try, 5 

The valiant knight with sbeeld and Bpeare, 

Ere that her love shee wold grant me ; 
Which made mee venture far and neare. 



Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight 
That in those dayes in England was, 

With sworde and speare in fieild to fight 



10 



Vcr. 0, The proud Sir Gay, PC. 



3» 



An English man I was by birthe : 

In faith of Christ a cbristyan tme : 
The wicked laws of infidells 15 

I sought by prowesse to subdue. 

' Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 

After our Saviour Christ his birth, 
When King Athelstone wore the crowne, 

I lived heere upon the earth. 20 

Sometime J was of Warwicke erle, 

And, as I sayd, of very truth 
A ladyes love did me constraine 

To seeke strange ventures in my youth. 

To win me fame by feates of armes 25 

In strange and sundry heathen lands ; 

Where I atchieved for ner sake 
Right dangerous conquests with my hands. 

For first I sayled to Normandye, 

And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30 

The emperours daughter of Almaine, 

From manye a vallyant worthye knight. 

Then passed I the seas to Greece 
To helpe the emperour in his right ; 

Against the mightye soul dans hoatte 
Of puissant Persians for to fight. 

Where I did slay of Sarazens, 
And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 

And slew the souldans cozen deere, 

Who had to name doughtye Coldran. 40 

Eskeldered a famous knight 

To death likewise I did pursue : 
And Elmayne King of Tyre aUoe, 

Most terrible in fight to viewe. 

I went into the souldans hoast, 4.*' 

Being thither ou embassage sent, 
And brought his head awn ye with mee; 

I having slaine him in his tent. 

There was a dragon in that land 

Most fiercely mett me by the waye 5C 

As hee a lyon did pursue, 

Which 1 myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 

And came to Pavye land aright : 
Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 5 

His hainous treason to requite. 

To England then I came with speede, 

To wedd faire Phelis lady bright : 
For love of whome I travelled -farr 

To try my manhood and my might. 6< 

But when I bad espoused her, 

I stayd with her but fortye dayes, 
Ere thai I left this ladve faire, 

And went from her beyond the seas. 

• 
All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 6? 

My voyage from her I did take 
Unto the blessed Holy-land, 

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Ver. 17, Two hn mired, MS. and P. 



tss 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



Where I Erie Jonas did redeeme, 

And all his sonnes, which were fifteen©, 70 
Who with the cruell Sarazens 

In prison for long time had beene. 

I slew the grant Amarant 

In battel fiercelye hand to hand : 
And doughty Barknard killed I, 75 

A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 

Then I to England came againe, 

And here with Colbronde fell I fought : 

An ugly gyant, which the Danes 

Had for their champion hither brought. 80 

I overcame him in the feild, 

And slew him soone right valiantlye ; 

Wherebye this land I did redeeme 
From Danish tribute utterlye. 

And afterwards I offered upp 85 

The use of weapons solemnlye 
At Winchester, whereas I fought, 

In sight of manye farr and nye. 

' But first/ neare Winsor, I did slaye 
A bore of passing might and strength ; 90 

Whose like in England never was 
For hugeness© both in bredth and length. 

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett 

Within the castle there doe lye : 
One of his sheeld-bones to this day 95 

Hangs in the citye of Coventrye. 

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 

Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath; 
Which manye people had oppresU 100 

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 

Still for a monument doe lye , 
And there exposed to lookers viewe 

As wondrous strange, they may ei nye. 



A dragon in Northumberland 105 

I alsoe did in fight destroye, 
Which did bothe man and beast oppress©, 

And all the countrye sore annoy e. 

At length to Warwicke I did come. 

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowue ; lit 
And there I Uvea a hermitts life 

A mile and more out of the towne. 



Where with my hands I hewed a house 
Out of a craggy rocke of stone ; 

And lived like a palmer poore 
Within that cave myself alone : 



1" 



i«i 



And daylye came to begg my bread 

Of Pbelis att my castle gate ; 
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe. 

Who dailye mourned for her mate. ISo 

Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 
Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a rine of golde, 
By which shee knew me presently©. 

Then shee repairing to the cave 12b 

Before that I gave up the ghost ; 
Herself closd up my dying eyes : 

My Phelis mire, whom I lovd most. 

Thus dreadful death did me arrest, 

To bring my cornea unto the grave ; 13C 

And like a palmer dyed I, 

Wherby I sought my soule to save. 

My body that endured this toyle, 
Though now it be consumed to mold ; 

My statue fair engraven in stone, 15: 

In Warwicke still you may behold. 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



The Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio 
manuscript among the old ballads ; he was desirous, 
therefore, that it should still accompany them ; and 
as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion 
here will be pardoned. 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is 
reason to believe that it is only a part of a much 
larger poem, which contained the whole history of 
Sir Guy : for, upon comparing it with the common 
story book ISmo, we find the latter to be nothing 
more than this poem reduced to prose : whioh is 
only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, 
ana throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. 
The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to 
pick complete stanzas in any page of that book. 

Yer. 94, 109, doth lye, MS. 



The author of this poem has shown some inven- 
tion. Though he took the subject from the old 
romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, 
and made the story intirely his own. 

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground, 
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood, 

Wherein our Saviours sacred head was crownd. 
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood : 

To see the sepulcher was his intent, 5 

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. 

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 

And passed desert places full of danger, 
At last with a most woefull wight * did meet, 

* Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 



JF 



GUV AND AMARANT. 



%%6 



A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger : 
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all 
To slavish bondage, in extremest tnraU. 



10 



A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength : 
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them : 15 

Guy questions, where t and understands at length 
The place not farr.— Lend me thy sword, quoth hee, 
lie lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free* 

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore, 
Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in : 20 

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before : 
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin : 

Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out 

Staring with ireful countenance about. 

Sirra, quoth hee, what business bast thou heere 1 25 
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls? 

Didst never beare, noe ransome can him cleere, 
That in the compasse of my furye falls : 

For making me to take a porters paines, 

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. SO 

Gyant, quoth Guy, y*are quarrelsome I see, 
Choller and you seem very neere of kin : 

Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 
I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin ; 

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spieht, 35 

Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me ngnt 

Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same 
About the head, the shoulders, and the side : 

Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime, 
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40 

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame, 

That like a furnace he did smoke extreame. 

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine, 
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 

And ever ere he beav'd his clubb againe, 45 

Did brush bis plated coat against his will : 

Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle, 

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle. 

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 
And aayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane race, 50 

Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe, 
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place : 

Thou canst not yeeld to 'me* a smaller thing, 

Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring. 

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,55 
Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore* : 

Succeed the trapedyes that they have past, 
But never thinke to taste cold water more : 

Drinke deepe to death and unto him carouse : 

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house. 60 

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst ; 

Takeing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 

Whose forced huUce against the stone does stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, 65 

That Guy admiring to behold it stands. 



Vcr. 64, bnlke, MS. and PCC. 
* Which Gay liacl slaiu before. 



Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe, 
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 

The fish, which in the river doe remaine, 

Will want thereby ; thy drinking doth them wrong: 

But I will see their satisfaction made, 71 

With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd. 

Villaine, quoth Amarant, lie crush thee Btreight ; 

Thy life, shall pay thy daring toungs offence' : 
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75 

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence : 
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes ; 
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes 

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to beare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes, 
Which like two pillars did his body beare : 

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes 

And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes : 

Which did directly on his body light, 85 

Soe violent, and weighty there-withall, 

That downe to ground on sudden came the knight ; 
And, ere he cold recover from the fall, 

The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist, 

And amid a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 90 

Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood lie repay, 
This coward act to intercept my bloode. 

Saves Amarant, He murther any way, 
With enemyes all vantages are good : 

O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95 

Besure of n I wold dispatch thee soe. 

Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare, 

Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell ; 
# Which are thy tenants while thou livest beare, 

But will be landlords when thou comest in hell : 
Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 101 

Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men. 

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke, 
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerve eye 

Torments me soe with burning heat, 1 thinke 105 
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye : 

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee. 

Quoth Amarant. 'Thou hast noe foole of mea» 

Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt, 
How 1 ahold use such enemyes as thou ; 110 

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt, 
To understand that thirst constraines thee now ; 

For all the treasure, that the world containes. 

One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines. 

Releeve my foe ! why, 'twere a madmans part : 115 
Refresh an adversarye to my wrong I 

If thou imagine this, a child thou art : 

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long 

To be soe simple : now I know thy want, 

A minutes space of breathing 111 not grant. 180 

And with these words heaving aloft his clubb 
Into the ayre, he swings the same about : 

Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb, 
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout : 

Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 12 

Now you are come unto your latest shift. 



£24 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



Perish forever : with this stroke I send thee 
A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good ; 

Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee, 
And then wee'Il have carouses of thy blood ; 130 

Mere's at thee with a butcher's downright blow, 

To please my furye with thine overthrow. 

Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy, 
That seemst a lump of cruel tye from hell ; 

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 135 

The thing to mee wherin I used thee well : 

With more, revenge, than ere my sword did make, 

On thy accursed head revenge He take. 

Thy gyanta longitude shall shorter shrinke, 

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof : 140 

Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdaine to drinke ; 
Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof; 

Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto j 

With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my pood-will, 145 

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout : 

You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill ; 
It is* not that same clubb will beare you out ; 

And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne— 

A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 151 
And from his shoulders did his head divide ; 

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;. 
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went. 

Where manye woefull captives he did find, 
Which had beene tyred with extremities ; 

Whom he in freindly manner did unbind:, 
And reasoned with them of their miseryes; 160 

Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryea, 

All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, 
That were surprised in the desart wood, 

And had noe other dyett every e day, 165 

But flesh of humane creatures for their food : 

Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes : 

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 171 
By which sad sound's direction on he goes, 

Untill be findes a darksome obscure gate, 

Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate. 



175 



That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares 
The strangest object that he ever saw ; 

Men that with famishment of many yeares, 

Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw ; 

Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 

Others bead-downward : by the middle some. 180 

With diligence he takes them from the walle, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint : 

Then the perplexed knight their father calls, [faint 
And saves, Receive thy sonnes though poore and 

I promisd you their lives, accept of that ; 185 

But did not warrant you they ahold be fat. 

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, 
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell : 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease, 

For pittyes sake, use wronged women well : 

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do j 

But poore weake women have not strength thereto, 



190 



The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete* 

Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a loss, 195 

For age to honor youth I hold unmeete : 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortifie a sinfull man. 

• # * The foregoing poem on " Guy and Amarant * 
has been discovered to be a fragment of " The famous 
historie of Guy earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Row- 
lands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to. in xii 
cantos, beginning thus : 

" When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first is not 
known, but the author Sam. Rowlands was one of th* 
minor poets who lived in the reigns of Queen Eliza- 
beth and James I. and perhaps later. His other 
poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes 
it probable that the history of Guy was one of hi* 
earliest performances. — There are extant of his ( 1 . ) 
" The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the 
seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other 
poems on the passion, &c. 1598, 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 
428.1— (2) A Theatre of delightful Recreation. 
Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes 
editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly 
taken from the Old Testament (S.) " Memory of 
Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1618, 4to." (4.) 
" Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror." 
Lond. 1638, 8vo. [These two in Bod. Cat.] 

In the present edition the foregoing poem has been 
much improved from the printed copy. 



i > 



FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM 



2&J 



III. 

THE AULD GOOD-MAN. 



a scomsn song. 



I have not been able to meet with a more ancient 
jopy of this humorous old song 1 , than that printed 
in the Tea-Table Miscellany, Sc. which seems to 
bare admitted some corruptions. 

Late in an evening forth I went 

A little before the sun gade down, 
And there I chanc't, bj accident, 

To light on a battle new begun : 
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 5 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

Cryeng, Erir alake, mine auld goodman ! 

HE. 

Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of, 

The country kens where he was born, 10 

Was but a silly poor vagabond, 

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn : 
For he did spend and make an end 

Of gear ' his fathers nevir' wan ; 
He gart the poor stand frae the door ; 15 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 

SHE. 

My heart, alake ! is liken to break, 

Whan I think on my winsome John, 
His blinkan ee, and gait sae free, 

Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone ; SO 
Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, 

And skin as white as ony swan, 
He was large and tall, and comely withal! ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine aula goodman. 



HE. 



Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; £5 

for meal and mawt thou disna want . 
But thy wild bees I canna please. 

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant . 
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; SO 

Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 

SHE. 

Yes I may tell, and fret my sell, 

To think on those Myth days I had, 
Whan I and he together lev 35 

In armes into a well-made bed : 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan. 
Thou falda thy feet, and fa s asleep ; 

Thoult nevir be like mine auld goodman. 40 



Then coining was the night sae dark, 

And gane was a' the light of day : 
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark. 

And therefore wad nae longer stay : 
Then up he gat, and ran his way, 45 

I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 
And aye the owreword of the fray 

Was, Evir alake ! mine auld goodman. 



IV. 



FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 



This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's 
" Knight of the Burning Pestle/' Acts 3d and 3d ; 
although the six lines there preserved are somewhat 
different from those in the ballad, as it stands at 
present. The reader will not wonder at this, when 
be is informed that this is only given from a modern 
printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title ia, 
" Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ; or Sweet William's 
frighful dreams on his wedding night, with the 
sudden death and burial of those noble lovers." — 

The lines preserved in the play are this distich, 

" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
I am no love for you." 

And the following stanza, 

" When it was grown to dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep. 
In came Margarets grimly ghost 
And stood at Williams feet." 



These lines have acquired an importance by giving 
birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own 
or any language. See the song entitled "Margaret's 
Ghost," at the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements have 
been inserted, which were communicated by a lady 
of the first distinction, as she had heard this song 
repeated in her infancy. 

As it fell out on a long summer's day 

Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
They sat together that long summer's day. 

And could not talk their fill. 



I see no harm by you, Margaret, 
And you see none by mee ; 

Before to-morrow at eight o* the clock 
A rich wedding you shall see. 



f*6 



BARBARA ALLEN'8 CRUELTY. 



Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window, 
Combing her yellow hair ; 10 

There she spyed sweet William and his bride, 
At they were a riding near. 

Then down she layd her irory combe, 

And braided her hair in twain : 
She went alive oat of her bower, 15 

Bat ne'er came alive in't again. 

When day was gone, and night was come, 

And all men mat asleep, 
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 

And stood at Williams feet SO 

Are you awake, sweet William T thee said ; 

Or, sweet William, are you asleep 1 
God give yoa joy of your gay bride-bed, 

And me of my winding sheet. 

When day was come, and night was gone, 25 

And all men wak'd from sleep, 
Sweet William to his lady aayd, 

My dear, I have cause to weep. 

I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyd, 

£cch dreames are never good : SO 

I dreamt my bower was fufi of red ' wine/ 

And my bride-bed fall of blood. 

Saoh diyems, sach dreams, my honoured sir, 

They never do prove good : 
To dream thy bower was rail of red * wine/ 95 

And thy bride-bed full of blood. 

He called up his merry men all, 

By one, by two, and by three ; 
Saying, I'll away to fair Margaret's bower, 

By the leave of my ladid. 40 

And when he came to fair Margaret's bower, 

He knocked at the ring ; 
And who so ready as her seven brethren 

To let sweet William in. 



Then he tamed up the eovering-eheet. 

Pray let me see the dead : 
Methinka she looks all pale and wan, 

She hath lost her cherry red. 

m do more for thee, Margaret, 

Than any of thy kin ; 
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 

Though a smile I cannot win. 

With that bespake the seven brethren, 

Making most piteous mone : 
Yoa may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 

And let our sister alone. 

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 

I do bat what is right ; 
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse 

By day, nor yet by night. 

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 
Deal on your cake and your wine * : 

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 
8hall be dealt to-morrow at mine. 

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 
Sweet William dyed the morrow : 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



Fair Margaret dyed for pore 
Sweet William dyed facac 



true love, 



.sorrow* 



Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel, 

And William in the higher : 
Out of her braat there sprang a rose, 

And oat of his a briar. 



70 



They grew till they srrew onto the church top, 
And then they could grow no higher ; 

And there they tved in a true lovers knot, 75 
Which made all the people admire. 

Then came the clerk of die pariah, 

As yon the truth ahall hear. 
And by misfortune eat them down, 

Or they had now been there. 



V. 



BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 



Given, with some corrections, from an old black 
letter copy, entitled, " Barbery Allen's cruelty, or 
the Young Man'a Tragedy." 

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, 

There was a faire maid dwellin, 
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye ! 

Her name was Barbara Allen. 

All in the merrye month of May, 5 

When greene bods they were swellin, 

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, 
For love of Barbara Allen. 



Ver. ai. SS. Mrine, PCC. 



He sent his man unto her then, 

To the town where ahee waa dwellin ; 10 
Yon muat come to my master deare, 

Giffyour name be Barbara Allen. 

For death is printed on his face. 

And ore hia hart ia stealin : 
Then haste away to comfort him, 15 

O lovelye Barbara Allen. 

Though death be printed on hia face, 

And ore hia harto ia stealin, 
Yet little better ahall he bee 

For bonny Barbara Allen. *0 

* AUoding to the dole antiently titea at fooerak. 



MMto^h 



SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 



StT 



80 slowly, slowly, the came up, 

And slowly she came nye him ; 
And all she sayd, when there she 1 

Yong man, I think y'are dying. 

He turnd his face onto her strait, S5 

With deadly* Borrow sighing; ; 

lovely maid, come pity mee, 
Ime on my deth-bed lying. 

If on yonr death-bed yon doe lye, 

What needs the tale you are tellin ; SO 

1 cannot keep you from your death ; 
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allan. 

■He tornd his face onto the wall, 
* As deadlve pang* he fell in : 
Adieu! adieu' adieu to you all, 35 

Adieu to Barbara Allen. 

As she was walking ore the fields. 

She heard the bell a knellin ; 
And erery stroke did seem to saye, 

Unworthy Barbara Allan. 40 

She turnd her bodye round about. 

And spied the corps a coming : 
Lave down, bye down the corps, she sayd, 

That I may look upon him. 



With scornful eye she looked downs, 45 

Her cbeeke with laughter awellin : 

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine ; 
Unworthye Barbara Allen. 

When he was dead, and laid in grave, 
Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50 

O mother, mother, make my bed. 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 

Hard-harted creature him to slight, 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55 

When he was alive and neare me I 



8he, on her death-bed as she laye, 

BegM to be buried by him ; 
And sore repented of the daye, 

That she did ere denye him. 60 

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all, 

And shun the fault I fell in : 
Henceforth take warning by the fall 

.Of cruel Barbara Allen. 



VI. 
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



From Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The 
stansa of this piece seems modern. 



Tsni came a ghost to Margaret's door. 
With many a grievous grone, 

And ay he tirled at the pin ; 
But answer made she none. 

Is this my father Philip ? 

Or is't my brother John 1 
Or is't my true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home 1 

Tie not thy father Philip ; 

Nor yet thy brother John : 
But 'tia thy true love Willie 

From Scotland new come home. 

O sweet Margret ! O dear Margret ! 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 

As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win/ 
Till that thon come within my bower, 

And kiss mv «H*ek and chin 



10 



15 



•n I 



If I should come within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man : 
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,. 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret 

As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

* Of me shalt nevir win/ 
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, 

And wed me with a ring. 

My bones are buried in a kirk yard 

Afar beyond the sea, 
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 

That's speaking now to thee. 

She stretched out her lily-white hand. 

As for to do her best : 
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 

God send your soul good rest. 

Now she has kilted her robes of green, 

A piece below her knee : 
And a* the live-lane winter night 

The dead com* followed shee. 



9b 



SO 



&> 



40 



t*8 



THE BALIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 



Is there any room at your bead, Willie ? 

Or any room at your feet? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 

Wherein that I may creep ? 

There's nae room at my head, Margret. 

There's nae room at my feet, 
There's no room at my side, Margret, 

My coffin is made so meet. 

Then up and crew the red red cock, 
And up then crew the gray : 



45 



50 



Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 
That ' I' were gane away. 

No more the ghost to Margret said, 
But, with a grievous grone, 

Evaniah'd in a cloud of mist, 
And left her all alone. 

O stay, my only true lore, stay, 
The constant Margret cried : 

Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her 
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. 



55 



60 



VII. 
SIR JOHN GREIIME AND BARBARA ALLAN. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



?.*inted, with a few conjectural emendations, from a 

written copy. 

It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; * 

That Sir John Grehme o' the west country e, 
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 






He sent his man down throw the towne, 
To the plaice wher she was dwellsn : 

O haste and cum to my maister deare, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan. 

O hooly, hooly raise she up, 
To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 
Young man I think ye're dyan*. 

O its I'm sick, and very very sick, 
And its a' for Barbara Allan. 

O the better for me ye'se never be, 
Though your harts blude wer spillan. 



10 



15 



Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir. 

Whan ye the cups wer fillan ; 
How ye made the healths gae round and round. 

And slighted Barbara Allan 1 20 

He turn'd his face unto the wa\ 

And death was with him dealan ; 
Adiew ! adiew I my dear friends a', 

Be kind to Barbara Allan. 

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, £ 

And hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay. 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa, 

Whan she beard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 

And everye jow the deid-bell gied, 

Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan ! 

O mitber, mither, mak my bed, 

O mak it saft and narrow : 
Since my love died for me to day, 3* 

Ise die for him to morrowe. 



VIII. 



THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 



From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys 
Collection, with some improvements communicated 
by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her 
youth. "The full title is, " True love requited : Or, 
the Bailiff's daughter of Islington." 

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant 

There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, 

And he was a squires son : 
He loved the bavHffes daughter deare, 

That lived in Islington. 

* An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and 
Lyaod ought to be transposed : as the laum Young man, 
I think ye're lyand, would be very ch.iracteri?*ical. 



Yet she was cove, and would not believe 

That be did love her soe, 
Noe nor at any time would she 

Any countenance to him showe. 

• 

But when his friendes did understand 

His fond and foolish minde, 
They sent him up to faire London 

An apprentice for to binde. 

And when he had been seven long yeares, 
And never his love could see: 

Many a tear* have I shed for her sake. 
When she little thought of mee. 



lo 



15 



THE WILLOW TREE. 



S39 



Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport end playe, 
All but the bayliffes daughter deare; 

She secretly stole awaye. tO 

She palled off her gowne of greene, 

And put on ragged attire, 
And to faire London she would go 

Her true love to enquire. 

And as she went along the high road, 25 

The weather being hot and drye, 
She sat her downe upon a green bank, 

And her true love came riding bye. 

She started up, with a colour soe redd, 

Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; SO 

One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd. 
Will ease me of much peine. 

Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 
Praye tell me where you were borne. 



At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 35 

Where I have had many a scorne. 

I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 

O tell me, whether you knowe 
The bayliffes daughter of Islington. 

She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40 

If she be dead, then take my horse, 

My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some farr countrye, 

Where noe man shall me knowe. 

O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, 45 

She standeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead, 

And readye to be thy bride. 

• 

O farewall griefe, and welcome joye, 

Ten thousand times therefore ; 50 

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, 

Whom I thought I should never see more. 



IX. 
THE WILLOW TREE. 



A KA8T0EAL DIALOGUE. 



From the Bmall blaclc-letter collection, intitled, 
'The Golden Garland of princely Delights,** col* 
lated with two other copies, and corrected by con- 
jecture. 



WILLY. 



How now, shepherde, what meanes that 1 
Why that willowe in thy hat? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe 1 

CUDDY. 

They are cbang'd, and so am I ; 
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 
Phillis hath forsaken mee, 
Which makes me weore the willowe-tree. 

WILLY. 

Phillis! shee that iov'd thee long? 
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? 
Shee that lov 'd thee long and best, 
Is her love turned to a jest? 

% CUDDY. 

Shee that long true love profest, 
She hath robb'd my heart of rest : 



10 



For she a new love loves, not mee ; 
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. 



15 



WILLY. 



Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 
Since thy happ is like to mine : 
For the maid 1 thought most true 
Mee hath also bid adieu. 



to 



CUDDY. 



Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 
Compsnye doth sorrowe ease : 
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee, 
And still must weare the willowe-tree. 

WILLY. 

Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 
Cast off grief and willowe-tree : 
For thy grief brings her content, 
She is pleas'd if thou lament. 

CUDDY. 

Herdsman, 111 be riil'd by thee, 
There Ives grief and willowe-tree : 
Henceforth I will do as they, 
And love a new love every day. 



15 



30 



kj=: 



uo 



THE LADY'S FALL. 



X. 

THE LADY'S FALL, 



given (with correction*) from the editor's 
ancient folio MS. collated with two printed copies 
in black-letter; one in the British Museum, the 
other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, " A 
lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tone 
of '< In Pescod Time, fee."— The ballad here re- 
ferred to is preserved in the " Muses Library," 8vo. 
p. *81. It u an allegory or vision, intitled, " The 
Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with some pretty 
rural images, via, 

'* In pescod time when hound to born 

Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 
And little lads with pipes of come 

Sate keeping beasts a-field. 

" I went to gather strawberries 
By woods and groves full fair, etc." 

Makis well my heavy dolefull tale, 

You loyall lovers all, 
And heeafully beare in your brest 

A gallant ladyes foil. 
Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5 

To lead a wedded life, 
But folly wrought her overthrowe 

Before shee was a wife. 

Too soone, alas ! shee gave consent 

And yeelded to his will, 
Though he protested to be true. 

And faitbrull to her still. 
Shee felt her body altered quite, 

Her bright hue waxed pale, 
Her lovelye cheeks changed color white, 

Her strength began to fayle. 

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 

This beauteous ladye milde, 
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 

To have conceived with childe. 
Shee kept it from her parents sight 

As close as close might bee 
And soe put on her silken gowne 

None might her swelling 



S5 



10 



15 



SO 



Unto her lover secretly 

Her greefe shee did bewray, 
And, walking with him hand in hand, 

These words to him did say ; 
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distress* 

By love brought to thy bowe, 
Behold I goe with ohilde by thee, 

Tbo none thereof doth knowe. 

The litle babe springs in my wombe 

To heare its lathers voyoe, 
Lett it not be a bastard called, 

Sith I made thee my choyce : 
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe 

And wed me out of hand ; 
O leave me not in this extreme 

Of griefe, alas ! to stand. 



30 



55 



40 



Think on thy former promises, 

Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; 
Remember with what bitter taares 

To mee thou madest thy moane. 
Convey mee to some secrett place, 45 

And marye me with speede ; 
Or with thy rapyer end my life. 

Ere further shame proceede. 

Alacke ! my beauteous love, quoth hee, 

My joye, and only dear ; 50 

Which way can I convey thee hence, 

When dangers are so near t 
Thy friends are all of hye degree, 

And I of mean estate ; 
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 55 

Out of thy fathers gate. 

Dread not thy life to save my fame, 

For, if thou taken bee, 
My selfe will step betweene the swords, 

And take the harme on mee : * 60 

Soe shall I scape dishonour quite ; 

And if I should be slaine, 
What could they say, but that true love 

Had wrought a ladyes bane. 

But feare not any further harme ; 65 

My selfe will soe devise. 
That I will ryde away with thee 

Unknowen of mortal] eyes : 
Disguised like some pretty page 

lie meete thee in the darke, 70 

And all alone He come to thee 

Hard by my fathers parke. 

And there, quoth hee, He meete my deare 

If God so lend me life. 
On this day month without all fayle 75 

I will make thee my wife. 
Then with a sweet and loving kisse, 

They parted presentlye, 
And att their partinse brinish teares 

Stoode in eche otners eye. 

Att length the wished day was come, 

On which this beauteous mayd, 
With longing eyes, and strange attire, 

For her true lover stayd. , 
When any person shee eepjed 85 

Come ryding ore the plaine, 
8he bop'd it was her owne true love i 

But all her hopes were vaine* 

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle 

Her most unhappy fate ; 90 

Then did shee speake these woefuU words, 

As succourless she sate ; 
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man, 

Dialoyall in thy love. 
Hast thou forgott thy promise pest, 95 

And wilt thou periured prove t 



WALY WALY LOVE BE BONNY. 



*3I 



And bast thou jiow forsaken me© 

In this my great distresse, 
To end my days in open shame, 

Which thou mightst well redresse 1 100 

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 

That flattering tongue of thine : 
Wold God that I had never seen© 

The teares of thy false eyne. 

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards she© went again© : 
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, 

She felt such privy© peine. 
In travail strong shoe fell that night, 

With manv a hitter throw© ; 110 

What woefull paines shee then did feel, 

Doth eche good woman know©. 

Shee ceiled up her waiting mayd, 

That lay at her hedds feet©, 
Who musing at her mistress woe, 115 

Began foil faste to weepe. 
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores, 

And windowes round about, 
Let none bewray my wretched state. 

But keep© all persons out. ISO 

O mistress, call your mother dear© 

Of women you have need©, 
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe, 

That better may you speed. 



Call not my mother for thy life, 1*5 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwifes helpe comes all too late, 

My death I doe not fear©. 

With that the babe sprang from her wombe 

No creature being nye, 130 

And with one sighe, which brake her .hart, 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant young©, 

The mother being dead, 
Resigned its new received breath 135 

To him that had it made. 

Next morning came her own true love, 

Affrighted at the newes. 
And he for sorrow slew himself©, 

Whom eche one did accuse. 140 

The mother with her new borne babe, 

Were laid© both in one grave ; 
Their parents overworn© with woe, 

No joy thenceforth cold have. 

Take heed, you dayntye damsella all, 145 

Of flattering words beware, 
And to the honour of your name 

Have an especial care. 
Too true, alas ! this story is, 

As many one can tell : 159 

By others harmes learn© to be wise, 

And you shall do full well. 



XI. 
WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. 



A SCOTTISH BOKO. 



This is a very ancient song, but we could only give 
it from a modern copy. Some editions instead of 
the four last lines in the second stansa have these, 
which have too much merit to be wholly sup- 
pressed: 

" Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, 

And muscles grow on every tree, 
When frost and snaw sail warm us aw*, 

Than sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c 

Artbur's-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near 
Edinborough ; at the bottom of which is St. An- 
thony's weU. 

walt waly up the bank, 
And waly waly down the brae, 

And waly waly yon burn side, 

Where I and my love wer wont to gee. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree ! 
But 6rst it bow'd and syne it brak, 
See my true love did lichtly me. 



O waly waly, gin love be bonny, » 
A little time while it is new ; 

But when its auld, it wazeth cauld, 
And fades awa' like morning dew 



10 



O wherfore shuld I busk my head t 
Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair t 

For my true love has me forsook, ^ 15 

And says hell never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed, 
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 
Since my true love has forsaken me. SO 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 

• And shake the green leaves aff the tree t 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

Tia not the frost, that freezes fell, *5 

Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ; 
Ti« not sio cauld, that makes me cry. 

But my loves heart grown cauld to me. 
Whan we came in by Glasgow© town, 

We were a comely sight to see, SO 

My love was cled in black velvet, 

And I my sell in cramaale. 

But had I wist, before I kisst, 
That love had been sae ill to win ; 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 55 
And pinnd it with a siller pin. 

And, oh ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurses knee, 
And I my sell were dead and gane ! 

For a maid again Is© never be. 44 



MU^^ 



*st 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



XII. 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



From two ancient copies in black-letter : one in the 
Pepys Collection ; the other in the British Museum. 

To the tune of " The Lady's Fall." 

Comb mourne, come mourne with mee, 

You loyall lovers all ; 
Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 

Whom griping grief doth thrall. 

Like to the drooping Tine, 5 

Cut by the gardener's knife, 
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 

Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 



By death, that grislye ghost, 

My turtle dove is slaine, 
And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend my dayes in peine. 

Her beauty late so bright, 

Like roses in their prime, 
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 

Before warme Phabns' shine. 

Her faire red colour *d cheeks 
Now pale and wan ; her eyes, 

That late did shine like crystal stars, 
Alas, their light it dies : 

Her prettye lilly hands, 

With fingers long and small, 

In colour like the earthly claye, 
Yea, cold and stiff withall. 

When as the morning-star 
Her golden gates had spred, 

And that the glittering sun arose 
Forth from fair Thetis' bed ; 

Then did my love awake, 

Most like a lilly-flower, 
And as the lovely queene of heaven, 

So shone shee in her bower. 

Attired was shee then 

Like Flora in ber pride, 
Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 

So looked my loving bride. 

And as fair Helens face 

Did Grecian dames besmirche, 

So did my dear exceed in sight 
All virgins in the church. 

When we had knitt the knott 

Of holy wedlock-band, 
Like alabaster joyn'd to Jett, 

So stood we hand in hand 

Then lo ! a chilling cold 

Strucke every vital part, 
And griping gnefe, like pangs of death, 

Seis'don my true love's heart. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



Down in a swoon she fell, 

As cold as any stone ; 
Like Venus picture lacking life, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red, 
Throughout her comely nice, 

As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes 
Was covered for a space. 

When with a grievous groane, 
And voice both hoarse and drye, 

Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend, 
For I this daye must dye ; 

The messenger of God 

With golden trumpe I see. 
With manye other angels more, 

Which sound and call for 



50 



55 



60 



Instead of musicke sweet, 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 

That in my chamber smell. 

Strip off my bride's arraye, 
My cork shoes from my feet ; 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 
To bring my winding-sheet. 

My wedding dinner drest, 

Bestowe upon the poor, 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde. 

Now craving at the door. 

Instead of virgins yong, 

My bride-bed for to see. 
Go cause some cunning carpenter, 

To make a chest for mee. 

My bride laces of silk 

Bestow'd, for maidens meet, 

May fitly serve, when I am dead, 
To tye my hands and feet. 

And thou, my lover true, 

My husband and my friend. 
Let me intreat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

Now leave to talk of love, 

And humblye on .your knee, 
Direct your prayers unto God : 

But mourn no more for mee* 

In love as we have livde, 

In love let us depart ; 
And I, in token of my love. 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

staunch those bootless teares. 
Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 

1 am not lost/ tor wee in heaven 
Shall one daye meet againe. 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



DULCINA. 



/33 



With that shee turn'd aside, 
As one dispos'd to sleep, 

And like a Iamb deported life : 
Whose friends did sorely weep. 



Her true lore seeing this, 
Did fetch a grievous groane, 

As tho' his heart would burst in twaine. 
And thus he made his moane. 

O darke and dismal daye, 

A daye of grief and care, 
That hath bereft the sun so bright, 

Whose beams refresht the air. 

Now woe unto the world, 
And all that therein dwell, » 

O that I were with thee in heaven 
For here I live in hell 



105 



110 



115 



And now this lover lives 

A discontented life, 
Whose bride was brought unto the grave 

A maiden and a wife. 120 

A garland fresh and faire 

Of lillies there was made, 
In sign of her virginitye, 

And on her coffin laid. 

Six maidens all in white, 125 

Did beare her to the ground : 
The bells did ring in solemn sort, 

And made a dolefull sound. 

In earth they laid her then, 130 

For hungry wormes a preye ; 
So shall the fairest face alive 

At length be brought to el****. 



XIII. 



DULCINA. 



Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, 
in the Pepys Collection, the other in the Editor's 
folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not 
found in the other. What seemed the best readings 
were selected from both 

This song is quoted as very popular in" Walton's 
Compleat Angler/' chap. t. It is more anoient than 
the ballad of " Robin Good-Fellow" printed below, 
which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben 
Jonson. 



As at noone Dulcina rested 

In her sweete and shady bower, 
Came a shepherd, and requested 
In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 

But from her looke 

A wounde he tooke 
Soe deepe, that for a further boone 

The nymph he prayes. 

Wherto snee sayes, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 



10 



But in vayne shee did conjure him 

To depart her presence soe ; 
Having a thousand tongues to allure him. 
And but one to bid him goe : 

Where lipps invite, 

And eyes delight, 
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, 

Persuade delay; 

What boots, she say, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone 1 



15 



tO i 



He demands what time for pleasure 
Can there be more fit than now : 
She sayes, night gives love that leysure, 
Which the day can not allow. 

He sayes, the sight 25 

' Improves delight 
Which she denies : Nights mirkie noone 

In Venus' playes 

Makes bold, snee sayes ; 
Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. SO 

But what promise or profession 

From his bands could purchase scope 1 
Who would sell the sweet possession 
Of suche beautye for s hope ? 

Or for the sight 35 

Of lingering night 
Foregoe the present joyes of noone t 

Though ne'er soe mire 

Her speeches were, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 40 

How, at last, agreed these lovers 1 

Shee was fayre, and he was young : 
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers ; 
Joyes unseene are never sung. 

Did sbee consent, 45 

Or he relent ; 
Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ; 

Left he her a xnayd, 

Or not ; she sayd 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 50 



THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 



1 



XIV. 
THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 



10 



This ballad is riven from an old black-letter copy 
in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in toe 
British Museum, H. 265. folio. It is there intitled, 
" The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's 
Cruelty : being a relation of a lamentable and cruel 
murtber, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella, 
the only daughter of a noble Duke, &c. To the 
tune of. The Lady's Fall." To some copies are an- 
nexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, "The 
Dutchess 8 and Cook's Lamentation." 

Thebs was a lord of worthy fame, 

And a hunting he would ride, 
Attended by a noble traine 

Of gentrye by his side. 

And while he did in chase remaine, 5 

To see both sport and playe ; 
His ladye went, as she did feigne, 

Unto the church to praye. 

This lord he had a daughter dears, 

Whose beauty shone so bright, 
8he was belov'd, both far and neare, 

Of many a lord and knight. 

Fair Isabella was she caH'd, 

A creature mire was shee ; 
She was her fathers only joye ; 

As yon shall after see. 

Therefore her cruel step-mother 

Did enrye her so much, 
That daye by daye she sought her life, 

Her malice it was such. 

She barcain'd with the master-cook, 

To take her life awaye : 
And taking of her daughters book, 

8he thus to her did say e. 

Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 

Go hasten presentue ; 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 

And bid him dresse to dinner straight 

That mire and milk-white doe, 
That in the parke doth shine so bright, 

There's none so aire to showe. 



15 



to 



tb 



50 



This ladye rearing of no harme, 

Obey'd her mothers will ; 
And presentlye she hasted home, 

Her pleasure to fulfill. 

She straight into the kitchen went. 

Her message for to tell ; 
And there she spied the master-cook, 

Who did with malice swell. 



55 



40 



Nowe, master-cook, it most be see. 

Do that which I thee tell : 
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe. 

Which you do knowe full well- 
Then straight his oruell bloodye hands. 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands. 

While thus to her he sayd ; 



4b 



Thou art the doe that I muat d 
See here, behold my knife j 

For it ia pointed presently 
To ridd thee of thy life. 



50 



O then, cried out the scuDiou-boye, 
As loud aa loud might bee ; * 

sere her life, good master-cook, 
And make your pyes of mee! 

For pityes sake do not destroye 
My ladye with your knife ; 

You imow shee is her father's joye. 
For Christes sake sare her fife. 

1 will not sare her life, he sayd, 
Nor make my pyes of thee ; 

Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye. 
Thy butcher 1 will bee. 



Now when this lord he did come 
For to sit down and eat ; 

He called for his daughter dears, 
To come and carre his meat 



Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd, 

O sit you downe to meat ; 
Into some nunnery she is gone j 

Your daughter deare forget. 

Then solemnlye he made a rowe, 

Before the companle : 
That he would neither eat nor drinke, 

Until he did her 



55 



GO 



6b 



70 



75 



then bespoke the scuUion-boye, 
With a loud voice so hye ; 

If now you will your daughter see, 
My lord cut up that pye : 

Wherein her fleshe is minced small, 
And parched with the fire ; 

All caused by her step-mother, 
Who did her death desire. 

And cursed bee the master-cook, 
O cursed may he bee 1 

1 proffered him my own heart's blood, 

From death to set her free, . 



80 



85 



* * 



THE KINO OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 



^em all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 

And for hit daughters sake, 
Hejudged her oraell step-mother 

To be burnt at a stake. 



90 



likewise he judg*d the master-cook 
In boiling; lead to stand ; 

And» made the simple scullion-boye 
The heire of all his land. 



*t& 



95 



XV. 
A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 



This song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem 
of Tasso's, called Amort fuggitivo, generally printed 
with his "Aminta," and originally imitated from the 
first Idyllium of Moschus. 

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the 
marriage of Lord Viscount Hadington, on Sbrove- 
Tueaday 1608. One stanza, full of dry mythology, 
is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this 
song printed in a small volume called " Le Prince 
d'Amour. Lond. 1660/' 8vo. 

Beauties, have yee seen a toy. 

Called Love, a uttle boy, 

Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 

Cruel now, and then as lrindet 

If he be amongst yee, say ; 5 

He is Venus 9 run away. 

Shee, that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 

Shall to-night receive a kisse, 

How and where herselfe would wish: 10 

But who brings him to his mother 

Shall have that kisse, and another. 

Markes he hath about him plenrie ; 

You may know him among twentie : 

All his body is a fire, 15 

And his breath a flame entire : 

Which, being shot, like lightning, in, 

Wounds the heart, but not the skm. 

Wings he hath, which though yee clip, 

He will leape from lip to lip, SO 

Over liver, lights, and heart; 

Yet not stay m any part. 

And, if chance his arrow misses, 

He will shoot bimselfe in kisses. 



He doth beare a golden bow. S5 

And a quiver hanging low, 

Full of arrowes, which outbrave 

Oian's shafts ; where, if he have 

Any head more sharp* than other. 

With that first he strikes his mothet, 30 



Still the fairest are his fuell, 

When his daies are to be cruell ; 

Lovers hearts are all his food, 

And his baths their warmest blond : 

Nought but wounds his hand doth season, 96 

And he hates none like to Reason. 



Trust him not: his words, though sweet, 

Seldome with his heart doe meet : 

All his practice is deceit ; 

Everie pift is but a bait : 40 

Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 

And most treason's in his teares. 



Idle minutes are his raigne; 

Then the straggler makes his game. 

By presenting maids with toyes 45 

And: would have yee thinke hem joyes > 

Tis the ambition of the elfe 

To have all childish as himselfe. 



If by these yee please to know him, 

Beauties, he not nice, but show him. 50 

Though yee had a wfll to hide him, 

Now, we hope, yeel not abide him, 

Since yee heare this miser's play, 

And that he is Venus' run-away 



XVI. 
THE KINO OF FRANCE'S .DAUGHTER. 



The story of this Ballad seems to be taken from 
an incidentin the domestic history of Charles the Bald, 
King of France. His daughter Judith waa betrothed 
to Ethelwulph King of England: but before the 
marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and 
she returned to France : whence she Was carried off 
by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after many 
crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's 
consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of 



Flanders. This happened about A. D. 865-— See 
Rapin, Henault, and the French Historians. 

The following copy is given from the Editor's an- 
cient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter 
in the Pepys Collection, intitled, "An excellent 
Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to the 
King of France's daughter, &c To the tune of 
Crimson Velvet." 

Many breaches having been made in this old song 



J 



136 



THE KINO OF FRANCES DAUGHTER. 



by the band of time, principally (as might be ex- 
pected) in the quick returns of the rhime; an 
attempt is here mode to repair them. 4 

In the dayes of old, 

When faire France did flourish, 
8toryes plaine have told, 

Lovers felt annoye. 
The queene a daughter bare, 5 

Whom beautye^ queene did nourish : 
She was lovelye (aire, 

She was her fathers joye. 
A prince of England came, 
Whose deeds did merit fame, 

But he was exiPd, and outcast : 
Love his soul did fire, 
Shee granted his desire. 

Their hearts in one were linked fast. 
Which when her father proted, 
Sorelye he was mored, 

And tormented in his minde. 
He sought for to prevent them j 
And, to discontent them, 

Fortune cross'd these lovers kinds. 



10 



15 



to 



When these princes twarae 

Were thus barrM of pleasure, 
Through the kinges disdaine, 

Which their joyea witbstoode : 
The lady soon prepar'd 

Her Jewells and her treasure : 
Having no regard 

For state and royall bloode ; 
In homelye poore array 
She went from court away. 

To meet her joye and hearts delight j 
Who in a forrest great 
Had taken up his seat, 

To wayt her coming in the night. 
But, lo 1 what sudden danger 
To this princely stranger 

Chanced, as he sate alone ! 
By outlawes be was robbed, 
And with ponyards stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying grone. 

The princesse, arm'd by love, 

And by chaste desire. 
All the night did r ove 

Without dread at all : 
Still unknowne she past 

In her strange attire ; 
Coming at the last 

Within echoes call, — 
You faire woods, quoth shee, 
Honoured may you bee, 

Harbouring my hearts delight ; 
Which encompass here 
My joye and only deare, 

My trustye friend, and comelye knight. 
Sweete, I come unto thee, 
Sweete, I come to woo thee ; 

That thou mayst not angry bee 
For my long delaying ; 
For thy curteoua staying 

Soone amends He make to thee. 

Passing thus alone 

Through the silent forest, 
Many a grievous grone 

Sounded in her ears : 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



i= 



She heard one complayne 65 

And lament the sorest, 
Seeming all in payne, 

Shedding deadly teares. 
Farewell, my deare, quoth bee, 
Whom I must never see ; 70 

For why my life is att an end, 
Through villaines cruelty* : 
For thy sweet sake I dye, 

To show I am a mitnfull friend* 
Here I rye a bleeding, 75 

While my thoughts are feedimr 

On the rarest beautye found. 
O hard happ, that may be 1 
Little knowes my ladye 

My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80 

With that a grone he sends 

Which did burst in sunder 
All the tender bands 

Of his gentle heart 
She, who knewe his voice, 85 

At his wordes did wonder ; 
All her former joyes 

Did to griefe convert 
Strait she ran to see. 
Who this man ahold bee, 90 

That soe like her love did seeme : 
Her lovely lord. she found 
Lye alaine upon the ground, 

Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. 
Which his lady spying, 95 

Shrieking, fainting, crying, 

Her sorrows could not uttered bee : 
Fate, she cryed, too cruell : 
For thee — my dearest Jewell, 

Would Godl that I had dyed for thee. 100 

His pale lippes, alas ! 

Twentye times she 
And his nice did wash 

With her trickling teares s 
Every gaping wound 105 

Tenderlye she pressed, 
And did wipe it round 

With her golden haires. 
Speake, faire love, quoth ahee, 
Speake, faire prince, to mee, no 

One sweete word of comfort give : 
Lift up thy deare eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

Thinke in what sad griefe I live. 
AH in vain she sued, j i$ 

All in vain she wooed, 

The prince's life was fled and gone. 
There stood she still mourning, 
Till the suns retourning. 

And bright day was coming on 1 JO 

In this great distressed 

Weeping, wayling evex. 
Oft shee cryed, alas ! / 

What will become of mee? 
To my fathers court 1 J5 

I returne will never : 
But in lowlye sort 

I will a servant bee. 
While thus she made her mone. 
Weeping all alone 150 



THE SWEET NEGLECT. 



237 



135 



In this deepe and deadlye feare : 
A for'ster all in greene, 
Most comelye to be aeene, 

Ranging the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 
Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe, 

What hard happ has brought thee here ? 
Harder happ did never 
Two kinde hearts dissever : 

Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140 



Where may I remaine, 

Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede 1 
Paines I will not spare : 

This kinde favour doe mee, 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede. 
The for'ster all amazed, 
On her beautye gazed, 

Till his heart was set on fire. 
If, fsire maid, quoth hee, 
You will goe with mee, 

You shall have your hearts desire. 
He brought her to his mother, 
And above all other 

He sett forth this maidens praise* 
Long was his heart inflamed, 
At length her love be gained, 

And fortune crown'a his future dayes. 



145 



150 



155 



160 



Thus unknowne he wedde 

With a longs faire daughter : 
Children seven they had, 

Ere she told her birth. 
Which when once he knew, 

Humblye he besought her, 
He to the world might shew 

Her rank and princelye worth. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
(Not like other men) 

In partye-colours strange to see . 
The right side cloth of gold, 
The left side to behold, 

Of woollen cloth still framed hee •• 
Men thereatt did wonder ; 
Golden fame did thunder 



165 



170 



175 



( This strange deede in every place : 

The King of France came thither. 
It being pleasant weather, 
In those woods the hart to chase. 180 



The children then they bring, 

So their mother wUl'd it, * 
Where the royall king 

Must of force come bye : 
Their mothers riche array, 185 

Was of crimson velvet: 
Their fathers all of gray, 

Seemelye to the eye. 
Then this famous king, 
Noting every thing, 190 

Aakt how be durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
And decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 195 

And the cause descrying *, 

To the long these words did say, 
Well may they, by their mother, 
Weare rich clothes with other, 

Being by birth a princess© gay. 200 

The king aroused thus. 

More heedfullve beheld them, 
Till a crimson blush 

His remembrance crost. 
The more I fix my mind 205 

On thy wife and children, 
The more methinks I find 

The daughter which I lost. 
Falling on her knee, 
I am that child, quoth shoe ; 210 

Pardon mee, my soveraine liege* 
The king perceiving this, 
His daughter deare did kiss, 

While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche. 
With his traine he tourned, 215 

And with them sojourned. 

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ; 
Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
And chiefe of his commanders : 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220 



XVII. 
THE SWEET NEGLECT. 



This little madrigal (extrated from Ben. Jonson's 
Silent Woman, act. 1. so. 1. first acted in 1609.) is 
in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of 
the variorum Edit, of Petronius, beginning, " Semper 
munditias, temper BatUma decora* Sec." See Whal- 
ley's Ben. Jonaon, vol. II. p. 420. 

* This will remind the reader of (he livery and device or 
Charles Brandon, a private .gentleman, who married the 
Queen Dowager of Prance, sister of Henry Vlll. At a 
tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of 
bis horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the 
following motto : 

44 Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Prize ; 
Cloth of Prise, be uot too bold, 
Tho' thon art raatcht with Cloth of Gold." 
See SlrW. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 350. 



Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
As you were going to a feast : 
Still to be poud'rea, still perfum'd : 
Lady it is to be presum'd. 
Though art's hid causes are not found. 
All is not sweet, ail is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face, 
That makes simplicitie a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 
Than a\\ th* adulteries of art, 
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

• L e. describing. See Gloat. 



10 



«* 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD 



XVIIL 
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



The subject of this ray popular ballad (which 
has been aet in so favourable a light by the Specta- 
tor, No. 85,) seems to be taken from an old play, 
entitled, " Two lamentable Tragedies ; the one of 
the murder of Maister Beech, a cnandler in Thames- 
streete, &c The other of a young child mnrthered 
in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his 
unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to. M Our 
ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the 
description of the rather and mother's dying charge : 
in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue : 
his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under 
pretence of sending him to school : their c h oo sing 
a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the 
ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c In 
other respects he has departed from the play. In 
the latter the scene is laid in Padua : there is but 
one child : which is murdered by a sudden stab of 
the nnt»Um«fay ruffian : be is slain himself by his 
less bloody companion ; but ere he dies gives the 
other a mortal wound : the latter tiring just long 
enough to impeach the uncle ; who, in consequence 
of tins impeachment, is arraigned and executed by 
the hand of justice, &c Whoever compares the 
play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the 
former is the original : the language is far more ob- 
solete, and such a rein of simplicity runs through 
the whole performance, that, had tne ballad been 
written first, there is no doubt but every circum- 
stance of it would have been received into the 
drama : whereas this was irobably built on some 
Italian novel. 

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in 
black letter in die Pepys collection. Its title at 
large is, " The Children in die Wood : or, the Nor- 
folk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament : to the 
tune of Rogero, eW 

Now ponder well, you parents deare, 

These wordes, which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall heare, 

In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman ofgood account 5 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honour far surmount 

Most men of his estate. 



8ore aioke he was, and like to dye, 

No belpe his life could save j 
His wife by him as sicke did lye. 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other sinde, 
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 

And left too babes behinde : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three yeares olde ; 
The other a girl more young than he, 

And fxain'd in beautyea mold* 
The father left his little son, 

As plsinlye doth appeare, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred poundes a yeare. 



10 



15 



20 



And to his little daughter Jane 

Five hundred poundes in gold* 
To be paid downe on marriage-day. 

Which might not be controll'd : 
But if the children chance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 
Their uncle should possssse their wealth ; 

For ao the wiJle did run. 

Now, brother, said the dying man, 

Look to my children deare ; 
Be good unto my boy and girl. 

No friendea else have they here : 
To Ood and you I recommend 

My children deare thia daye ; 
But little while be sure we have 

Within this world to staye. 

You must be father and mother both, 

And uncle all in one ; 
God knowea what will become of them. 

When I am dead and gone. 
With that bespake their mother deare, 

O brother londe, quoth ahee, 
You are the man must bring our babee 

To wealth or miserie : 

And if you keep them carefully. 

Then Ood will you reward ; 
But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deedea regard. 
With lippea as cold as any atone. 

They kist their children small : 
God bless you both, my children deare; 

With that the teares did faU. 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke couple there, 
The keeping of your little ones 

Sweet sister, do not fesre : 
God never prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I have, 
If I do wrong your children deare, 

When you are layd in grave. 

The parents being dead and gone, 

The children home he takes, 
And bringes them straite unto his house. 

Where much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a daye, 
But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both awaye. 

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong. 

Which were of furious mood. 
That they should take these children 

And slaye them in a wood. 
He told his wife an artful tale, 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his friend. 



ti 



as 



40 



45 



AO 



55 



00 



6* 



70 



,75 



JT= 



/ 



A LOVER OF LATE. 



Away then went those pretty babes, 

Rejoicing at that tide, 
Kejoyewf with a merry minde, 

They should on cock-borse ride* 
They prate and prattle pleasantry, 85 

As they rode on the waye, 
To those that should their butchers be, 

And work their lires deeaye : 

So that the pretty speeehe they had, 

Made Murders heart relent : 90 

And they that undertook© the deed, 

Full sore did now repent. 
Yet one of them more hard of heart, 

Did vowe to do his charge, 
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95 

Had paid him Tory large. 

The other won't agree thereto, 

So here they fau to strife ; 
With one another they did fight, 

About the chUdrens life : 100 

And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slaye the other there, 
Within an unfrequented wood ; 

The babes did quake for feare I 

He took the children by the hand, 105 

Teares standing in their ere, 
And bad them straitwaye follow him, 

And look they did not crve : 
And two long miles he ledd them on, 

While they for food complaine : 110 

Stare here, quoth he. 111 bring you bread. 

When I come back againe* 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 

Went wandering up and downe ; 
But never more could see the man 115 

Approaching from the town : 
Their prettye fippes with black-berries, 

Were all besmear'd and dyed, 
And when they sawe the darksome night, 

They sat them downe and cryed* 120 



Thus wandered these poor innocents, 

Till deathe did end their griet, 
In one anothers armes they dyed, 

As wanting due relief: 
No burial « this' pretty « pair' 1*5 

Of any man receives, 
Till Robin-red-breast piously 

Did cover them with leaves. 

And now the heavy wrethe of God 

Upon their uncle fell ; 
Yea, fearfall fiends did haunt Ins house, 

His conscience felt an hell : 
Hia hemes were firM, his goodes consum'd, 

His landes were barren made, 
His cattle dyed within the field, 155 

And nothing with him stayd, 

And in a voyage to Portugal 

Two of his sonnes did dye ; 
And to conclude, himself was bro u g ht 

To want and miserye : 140 

Hepawn'd and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seven years came about. 
And now at length this wicked act 

Did by this meanes come out : 

The fellowe, that did take in hand 145 

These children for to kill, 
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, 

Such was Ood r s blessed wffl : 
Who did confess the very truth. 

As here hath been displayed : 150 

Their uncle having dyed in gaol, 

Where he for debt was layd. 

You that executors be made, 

And overseers eke 
Of children that be mtherless, 155 

And infants mild and meek; 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 
Lest God with such like miserye 

Your wicked minds requite. 



XIX. 



A LOVER OF LATE. 



Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the 
Editor's folio MS. 

A loves of late was I, 

For Cupid would have it soe, 
The boy tnet hath never an eye, 
As wvry man doth know : 
I sirbed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! 5 

For ner that laught, and called me ass. 

Then knew not I what to doe, 
When I saw ittwaa in vaine 
A lady soe coy to wooe, 
Who gave me the ease soe plaine : 10 

Yet would I her esse freelye bee, 
Soe sbee would belpe, and beare with me*. 



An* I were as faire as shea, 

Or shee were as kind as I, 
What payre cold have made, as 
Soe prettye a sympethve : 
I was as xind as shee was mire. 
But for all this wee cold not paire. 

Paire with her that will for mee, 

With her I will never paire ; 
That cunningly can be coy, 
For being a little (aire. 
The ease He wave to her disdaine ; 
And now I am myselfe againe. 



15 



to 



Ver. 1*5, tbetctabes, PP. V. IS, faiae, MIL 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



XX. 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



It his been * favourite subject with our English 
ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, 
either by accident or design, with the meanest of 
their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song 
of the King and the Miller, we have King Henry and 
the Soldier ; King James L and the Tinker; King 
William III. and the Forester, &o. Of the latter sort, 
are King Alfred and the Shepherd; King Edward 
IV. and the Tanner ; King Henry VIII and the 
Cooler, &o. A few of the beat of these are ad- 
mitted into this collection. Both the author of the 
following ballad, and others who have written on the 
same plan, seem to hare copied a very ancient poem, 
intitled " John the Reeve/* which is built on an ad- 
venture of the same kind, that happened between 
Kin* Edward Longahanka and one of his Reeves or 
Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being 
written before the time of Edward IV. and for its 
genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful 
picture of rustio manners, is infinitely superior to all 
that have been since written in imitation of it The 
Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its 
length rendered it improper for this volume, it con- 
sisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also acme 
corruptions, and the Editor chases to defer its publi- 
cation, in hopes that some time or other he shall be 
able to remove them. 

The following is printed, with corrections, from 
the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black- 
ietter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled, "A plea- 
sant ballad of " King Henry IL and the Miller of 
Mansfield, &c." 

PART THE TOST. 

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting 
To the greene forest so pleasant and (aire ; 

To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping : 
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : 

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 

For the game, in the same, with good regard. 6 

All a long summers dsy rode the king pleasantlye, 
With all his princes and nobles eche one ; 

Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gallantlye, 
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn home. 10 

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite 

All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe, 

With a rude miller he mett at the last ; 
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham ; 15 

Sir, quoth the miller, I mesne not to jest, 
Yet I thinke, whst I thinke, sooth for to say, 
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way- 
Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king 
merrily, 

Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ? tO 
Good faith sayd the miller, I mean not to flatter thee, 

I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ; 
Stand thee backe, in the darke ; light not adowne, 

at that I presentiye crack thy knave? crowne. 24 



Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, earing 
I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke. [thus ; 

Thou hast not quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse ; 
All thy inheritance hangs on thy backe. 

• I have gold to discharge all that I call ; 

If it be forty pence I will pay alL 30 

# 

Tf thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller, 
I sweare by my toll-dish, 111 lodge thee all night. 

Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever. 
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite. 

Better 111 know thee, ere hands we will shake ; 35 

With none but honest men hands will I take. 

Thus they went all along unto the millers house : 
Where they were seething of puddings and souse : 

The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king ; 
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40 

Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are. 

Quoth the king, looke your fill, and doe not spare. 

I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest free : 
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye. 

Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth, 
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye, 46 

Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell ? 

Show me thy passport, and all anal be welL 

Then our king presentiye, making lowe courtesye. 
With his hatt in his nand, thus he did say j 50 

I hsve no passport, nor never was servitor, 
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way : 

And for your kindness here offered to mee, 

I will requite you in everye degree, 

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55 
Saying, It seemeth, this youth s of good kin, 

Both by nis apparel, and eke by his manners ; 
To turne him out certainlye, were a great sin. 

Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace 

When he doth speake to his betters in place. 60 

Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome 
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be : [here ; 

Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave, 
And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth 
shee. 

Aye, quoth the good man ; and when that is done. 

Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne. 

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true, 
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose 1 

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? 
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? 

Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby 1 quoth he : 7 1 

If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee. 




=E= 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



241 






This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most 
heartilye, 

Till the teares trickled fast downe from bis eyes. 
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75 

With hot bag-puddings, ana good apple-pyes ; 
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, 
Which did about the board merrilye trowle. 

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to 
thee, 

And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee/ 80 
I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke thee heart- 

For my good welcome in everye degree : [ilye 
And here, m like manner, I drinke to thy sonne. 
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come. 

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85 
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste, 

A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye. 
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste. 

Here's dainty lightfoote 7 In faith, sayd the king, 

I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90 

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is, 

For we doe eate of it everye day. 
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to 

We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : [this ? 
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; 95 
Now and tnen we make bold with our kings deer. 

Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison. 
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know 
that: 
Never are wee without two or three in the roof, 

Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100 

But, pry thee, say nothing wherever thou goe ; 
We would not, for two pence, the king should it 
knowe. 

Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye ; 

The king shall never know more on't for mee. 
A cupp of Iambs-wool they drauke unto him then, 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 106 

The nobles, next morning, went all up and down, 
For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the millers ' cott,' soone they espy'd him 
out, 
A 8 he was mounting upon his faire steede ; 110 
To whom they came presently, falling down on their 
knee ; 
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede ; 
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood, 
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood. 

rhe king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115 
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sea : 

The miller downe did fall, crying before them all, 
Doubting the king would have cut off his head. 

But he his kind courtesye for to requite, 

Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knighklSO 

PART THE SECONDS. 

When as our royall king came home from Notting- 
And with his, nobles at Westminster lay ; [bam, 

Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken, 
In this late progress along on the way ; 

Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5 

The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best 

Ver. 80, coonnalls, that courteous be, MS. »hd P. 



And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined 
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast, 

That this old miller, our new con firm 'd knight. 
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest : 10 

For, in this merrvraent, 'tis my desire 

To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire. 

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness, 
They were right joy full and glad in their hearts : 

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi- 
ness, 16 
The which had often-times been in those parts. 

When he came to the place, where they did dwell, 

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell. 

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger, 
And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20 

And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happi- 
ness; 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, 

You must come to the court on St. George's day ; 

Therfore, in any ease, faile not to be in place. 25 
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest : 

What should we doe there 7 faith, I am halfe afraid. 
1 doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least. 

Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake ; 

Our king he provides a great feast for your sake. SO 

Then sayd die miller, By my troth, messenger, 
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well. 

Hold here are three farthings, to auite thy gentleness, 
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell. 

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35 

We'll wayt on bis mastershipp in everye thing. 

The pursuivant smile*' at their simplicitye, 
And making many leggs, tooke their reward ; 

And his leave taking with great humilitye 

To the kings court againe he repair'd ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free, 

The knightes most liberall gift and bountie. 

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say, 
Here come expences and charges indeed ; [have ; 

Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we 
For of new garments we have great need : 46 

Of horses and serving-men we must have store, 

With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more. 

Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should you 
frett, orfrowne? 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 50 
For 1 will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, 

With everye thing else as fine as may bee; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, 
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide. 

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all j56 

Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, 
And so they jetted downe to the kings ball ; 

The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 59 

His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide. 

Ver. 57, for good hap: i. e. for pood lnclc; they were 
going on an hasardous expedition. V. 00, Maid Marian la 
the Morris dance, wai represented by a man in woman's 
clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the 
female character. 



rr 



?4S 



THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 



The king and bis nobles that heard of their coming, 
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traiiie ; 

Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady : 
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe : 

And so is the squire of courage soe free, 65 

Quoth Dicke, A bote on you ! do you know mee ? 

Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee T 
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot. 

Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token. 
Thou With thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70 

Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the 
knight. 

Speake cleanly to our king, or else go *h** # . 

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily, 
While the king taketh them both by the hand ; 

With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen 
of spades 75 

The millers wife did soe orderly stand. 

A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 

And downe all tike folkes were set to the board. 

There the king royally, in princelye maiestye, 
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight ; 80 

When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell, 
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight : 

Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ; 

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. 



Quoth Sir John Cockle, 111 pledge you a pottle, 
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire : 

But then said our king, now I think of a thing ; 
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here* 

Ho ! ho ! quoth Richard, full well I may say it, 

Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 



85 



90 



Why art thou angry t quoth our king merrily© ; 

In faith, I take it now very unkind : 
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine 
heartily. 

Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd : 
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small ; 95 
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all. 

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing, 
Could a man get but one here for to eate. [hose, 

W r ith that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his 
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100 

The king made a proffer to snatch it away : — 

Tis meat for your master ; good sir, you must stay. 

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent ; 

And then the ladyes prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 105 

Unto their places the king did advance. 
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make, 
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. 

Many thankee for their paines did the king give them, 
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed ; 110 

Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee ? 
Quoth he Jugg G rum ball, Sir, with the red bend : 

She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 

She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead. 

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115 
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer ; 

And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye: 
Take heed now you steale no more of my deer : 

And once a quarter let's here have your view ; 

And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. lttC 



I 



XXI. 
THE SHEPHERDS RESOLUTION. 



This beautiful old song was written by a poet, 
whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if 
it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of con- 
tempt. " Dryden and Wither" are coupled by him 
like the " Bavius and Masvius" of Virgil. Dryden 
however has had justice done him by posterity : and 
as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he 
was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged 
from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither 
was a very voluminous party-writer : and as his 
political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely 
popular in his life-time : so afterwards, when these 
were no longer relished, they totally consigned his 
writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in 
his younger years distinguished himself by some 
pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant ; but grow- 
ing afterwards involved in the political and religious 
disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I. 
he employed bis poetical vein in severe pasquils on 
the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer 
for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that 
ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the 



Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the 
spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, 
wbom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under 
the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing 
of the county of Surrey: but, surviving the Re- 
storation, he outlived both his power, and his afflu- 
ence ; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on 
the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the 
Tower. He died at length on the 2d of May, 1»~C7. 
During the whole course of his life, Wither was 
a continual publisher ; having generally for oppo- 
nent, Taylor the Water-poet. Ihe long list of his 
productions may be seen in Wood's Athena? Oxon. 
vol. II. His most popular satire is in titled " Abuses 
whipt and stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces 
were eclogues, intitled, " The Shepherd's Hunting," 
1C15, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's 
" Shepherd's Pipe," 1614, 8vo. Ihe following 
sonnet is extracted from a lone pastoral piece of his, 
intitled, " The Mistresse of rhilarete," 163*. 8vc 
which is said in the preface to be one of the Au- 
thor's first poems ; and may therefore be dated as 
early as any of the foregoing. 



• i 



i. 



gUEEJS DIDO. 



S4S 



Shall I, wasting in dispaire, 

Dye because a woman's faire t 

Or make pale my cheeks with care 

'Cause another's rosie are 1 

Be shee fairer then the day, 5 

Or the flowry meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how faire shee be? 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 

'Cause I see a woman kind 1 10 

Or a well-disposed nature 

Joyned with a lovely feature T 

Be shee meeker, kinder, than 

The turtle-dove or pelican : 

If shee be not so to me, 15 

What care I how kind shee be ? 

• 

Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love ' 

Or, her well-deservings knowne, 

Make me quite forget mine owne t 90 



Be shee with that goodnesse blest, 

Which may merit name of Best; 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be? 

Cause her fortune seems too high, 15 

Shall I play the foole and dye ? 
Those that beare a noble minde, 
Where they want of riches find, 
Thinke what with them they would doe. 
That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlesse that minde I see, 
What care I how great she bet 

Great or good, or kind or faire, 

I will ne'er the more dispaire : 

If she love me, this beleeve ; *S5 

I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If she slight me when I wooe, 

I can scorne and lot her goe : 

If shee be not fit for me, 

What care I for whom she be ? 40 



XXII. 



QUEEN DIDO. 



Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. 
to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common 
printed copies, is inscribed, " Eneas wandering 
Prince of Troy." It is here given from that MS. col- 
lated with two different printed copies, both in 
black letter, in the Pepys collection. 

The reader will smile to observe with what 
natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad- 
maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the 
classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is 
probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but 
he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more 
impartial hand than that celebrated poet 

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres * past/ 

Withstood the Greekes in manrull wise. 
Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 
That to resist none could suffice : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 

And come now growes where Troy towne stoode. 

JEnea*, wandering prince of Troy, 

When he for land long time had sought, 
At length arriving with great joy, 

To mighty Carthage walls was brought j 
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, 
Did entertaine that wandering guest. 



10 



And, as in hall at meate they sate, 

The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
* Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate' 
Declare to me thou Trojan deare : 
The heavy hap and chance soe bad, 
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had. 

Ver. 1, 21, *ar, MS. and PP 



15 



And then anon this come.ye m.gnt, 

With words demure, as he cold well, 
Of his unhappy ten yeares • fight,' 
Soe true a tale began to tell, 
With words soe sweete, and sighs soe deepe, 
That oft he.made them all to weepe. 



SO 



26 



And then a thousand sighes he fet, 

And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 
That where he sate the place was wett, 
As though he had seene those warrs againe . 
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, Worthy prince, enough, no more. SO 



And then the darksome nijrht drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred; 
When he his dolefull tale had done, 
And every one was layd in be Id : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 
Save only Dido's boyling brest 



55 



This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone, 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 
And to (he walls shee made her mone; 
That she shold still desire in vaine 
The thing, she never must obtaine. 



And thus in griefie she spent the night, 

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled, 
And Phoebus, with his glistering li«ht, 
Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
Then tidings came to her anon, 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 



40 



45 



» 2 



«44 



1HK WITCH £8' SONO 



50 



And then the qaeene with bloody knife 

Did arme her hart as hard as stone, 
Yet, something loth to loose her life, 
In woefull wise she made her mono; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed, 
With sighes and sobbs, these words she sayd : 



111 us by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 
Heavens send thee such untimely end. 



O wretched Dido queene ! quoth shee, 

I see thy end approacheth neare ; 
For hee is fled away from thee, 

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare : 
What is he gone, and passed by ? 
hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare, 

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ; 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear, 
Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. 
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart ! — 
And with those words shee peerced her hurt. 

When death had pierced the tender har 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene ; 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart, 
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene ; 
£neas being shipt and gone. 
Whose flattery caused all her mone j 

Her funerall most costly made, 

And all things finisht mournfuHye ; 
Her body fine in mold was laid. 
Where ltt consumed speedilye: 
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde ; 
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 

Then was .£neas in an ile 

In Grecya, where he stayd long space 
Whereas her sister in short while 
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ; , 
In speeches bitter to his mind 
Shee told him plaine he was unkind. 

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art, 

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid 
Unto thy lure a gentle hart, 

Which unto thee much welcome made J 
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy. 
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay, 
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye, 

Beseeching god, that every day 
Might breed thy great felicitye : 



DO 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



80 



90 



95 



When he these lines, fall fraught with gall. 

Perused had, and waved them right, 
His lofty courage then did fell ; 
And straight appeared in his sight 
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale * 
Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 

.£neas, quoth this ghastly ghost, 

My whole delight when I did live. 
Thee of all men 1 loved most ; 
My fancy and my will did give; 
For entertainment I thee gave. 
L'nthankefully thou didst me grave. 

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 
To wander with me in the aire : 
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle. 
Because of me thou tookst no care : 
Delay not time, thy glasse is run, 
Thy date is past, thy life is done. 

O stay a while, thou lovely sprit*, 

Be not soe hasty to convay 
My soule into eternall night, 

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day 
O doe not frowne ; thy angry looke 
Hath ' all my soule with horror shooke.' 

But, woe is me! all is in vnine, 
And bootless is icy dismall crye; 

Time will not be recalled againe, 
Nor thou surcease before I dye. 

lett me live, and make amends 
To some of thy most dearest friends. 

But seeinj? thou obdurate art, 
And wut no pittye on me show, 

Because from thee I did depart, 
And left unpaid what I did owe : 

1 must content myselfe to take 
What lott to me thou wilt partake. 

And thus, as one being in a trance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 
About this wofiull prince did dance , 
He had no helpe of any friends : 
His body then they tooke awav. 
And no man knew his dying day. 



ICO 



105 



110 



115 



;«o 



135 



ISO 



153 



XXIII. 



THE WITCHES SONG. 



! 



From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, pre- 
sented at W hitehall, Feb. 2, 1609. 

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert 
some old pieces on the popular superstition concern- 
ing witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The 
last of these make their appearance in most of the 
tragical ballads ; and in the following songs will be 
found some description of the former. 



It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from 
the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract 
from the various incantations of classical antiquity, 
than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar 
But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wise- 
acres had just before busied themselves on this sub 

I Vcr. ISO, MS. Hath made my breath my life forsook* 




ject, in compliment to King James I. whose weak- 
ness on this head is well known : and these had so 
ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so 
blended and kneaded together the several supersti- 
tions of different tiroes and nations, that those of 
genuine English growth could no longer be traced 
out and distinguished. 

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and 
goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our 
fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed 
down to us pure and unsophisticated. 

1 WITCH. 

I nAVE been all day looking after 

A raven feeding upon a quarter : 

And, soone as she turn 'd her beak to the south, 

I snatch 'd this morsell out of her mouth. 

2 WITCH. 

I have beene gathering wolves haires, 
The madd dogges foames, and adders eares ; 
The spurging of a deadmans ayes : 
And all since the evening starre did rise* 



3 WITCH. 

I last night lay all alone 

O' the ground, to hears the mandrake grone; 10 
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low : 
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow. 

4 wrrcn. 

And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 

From cbarnell houses that were full ; 

From private grots, and publike pits ; 15 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 

5 WITCH. 

Under a cradle I did crepe 

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 

At night, I suck*d the breath ; and rose, 

And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. tO 



6 WITCH. 

I had a dagger : what did I with that? 

Killed an infant to have his fat 

A piper it got at a church-ale. 

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile. 

7 WITCH. 

A murderer, yonder, was hung- in chaines ; 25 

The sunne and the wind had shrunke his voines : 
I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 
1 brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre. 

8 witch. 

I The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke, 
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 
I have been getting ; and made of his skin 31 

A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in. 

9 witch. 

And I ha' beene plucking (plants among) 
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 35 

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane. 

10 WITCH. 

I from the jawes of a gardiner's hitch 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch : 

Yet went I back to the house againe, 

Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40 

11 WITCH. 

I went to the toad, breedes under the wall, 

I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ; 

I tore the batts wing : what would you have more ? 



DAME. 



Yes : I have brought, to helpe your vows, 
Horned poppie, cypresse boughes, 
The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes, 
And juice, that from the larch-tree comes, 
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin : 
And now our orgies let's begin. 



45 



XXIV. 



ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW, 



-alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of 



, — . — — __,_____.., — _ — _ _ — 

ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite, 
whose character and achievements are recorded in 
this ballad, and in those well known lines of INI il toll's 
L'Allegro, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to 
be owing to it : 

" Tells how the drudging Goblin swet 
To earn his creame-bowle duly set : 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morne, 
His shadowy flail bath thresh *d the corn 
That ten dav -labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And stretch 'd out all the chimneys length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matins rings." 

The reader will observe that our simple ancestors 
had reduced all tljese whimsies to a kind of system, 
as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than many 
parts of classic mythology : a proof of the extensive 



influent and vast antiquity of these superstitions. 
Mankind, and especially the common people, could 
not every where have been so unanimously agreed 
concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not 

{>revailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a 
earned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the 
existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the 
most ancient British Bards, who mention them 
under various names, one of the most common of 
which signifies " The spirits of the mountains." 
See also Preface to Song A XV. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jon son 
(though it is not found among his works) is chiefly 
printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the 
British Museum. It seems to have been originally 
intended for some Masque. 

This Ballad is intitled, in the old black-letter 
copies, " The merry Pranks of Robin Goodfellow 
To the tune of Dulcina," &c. (See No. XIII 
above.) 



U6 



ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 



From Oberon, in fairy e land, 

The king; of ghosts and shadowes there, 
Mad Robin I, at his command, 
Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 

What revell rout 5 

Is kept about, 
In every corner where I go, 

1 will o'ersee, 

And merry bee. 
And make good sport, with ho, ho, Lo ! 10 

iifore swift than lightening can I Aye 

About this aery welkin soone, 
And, in a minutes space, descry e 
Each thing that's done belowe the moone, 

There's not a hag 15 

Or ghost shall wag, 
Or cry, ware Goblins 1 where I go ; 

But Robin I 

Their feates will spy, 
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 



Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 

As from their night-sports they trudge home ; 
With counterfeiting voice I greete, 
And call them on, with me to roame 

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 
Or else, unseene, with them I go, 

All in the nicke 

To play some tricke 
And frokcke it, with ho, ho, bo ? 



25 



30 



Sometimes I meete them like a man , 

Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound ; 
And to a horse I turn me can ; 
To trip and trot about them round. 

But if, to ride, 

My backe they stride, 
3n~N/fe swift than winde away I go, 

Ore hedge and lands. 

Thro' pools and ponds 
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

With possets and with juncates fine ; 
Unseene of all the company, 
I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 
And, to make sport, 
I fart and snort ; 
And out the candles I do blow : 

The maids I kiss ; 
They shrieke— Who's this ? 
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho ! 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 

At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe, and take their ease, 
With wheel" to threads their flax 1 pull. 

I grind at mill 

Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 

If any 'wake, 

And would me take, 
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho ? 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 
1 pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I 
And lav them naked all to view. 

'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65 

I do them take, 
And on the key-cold floor them throw. 

If out they cry. 

Then forth I fly, 
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 70 

When any need to borrowe ought, 

We lend them what they do require . 
And for the use demand we nougnt ; 
Our owne is all we do desire. 

If to repay, 7.^ 

They do delay, 
Abroad amongst them then I go, 

And night by night, 

I them affright 
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 80 

When lazie queans have nought to do. 

But study how to cog and lye ; 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twixt one another secretive : 

I marke their gloze, 85 

And it disclose, 
To them whom they have wronged so , 

When I have done, 

I get me gone. 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 9C 

When men do traps and engins set 

In loope holes, where the vermine creepe, 
Who from their foldes and houses, get 
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe : 
I spy the gin, 9j 

And enter in. 
And seeme a vermine taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 100 



By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 
We nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 
And to our fairye king and queene 
We chant ourmoon-li^btminstielsies. 

When larks gin sing, 

Away we fling ; 
And babes new borne steal as we go, 

And elfe in bed 

We leave instead, 
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 

Thus nightly revell'd to and fro : 

And for my pranks men call roe by 

The name of Robin Good-fellow. 

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 

Who haunt the nightes. 
The hags and goblins do me know ; 

And beldames old 

My feates have told ; 
So VaU, VaU; ho, ho, ho! 



I 



■•■*■ 



10J 


110 


115 


120 



THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 



S* 



XXV. 

THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



We have here a short display of the popular belief 
concerning Fairies. It will afford entertainment to a 
contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions 
up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, 
how extensively, and bow uniformly, they have pre- 
vailed in these nations, will not readily assent to the 
hypothesis of those who fetch them from the East so 
late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas it is well 
known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they 
left their German forests, believed the existence of a 
kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between 
men and spirits, whom tbey called Duergar or 
Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonder- 
ful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. 
Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur. 
&cc. 

This Song is given (with some corrections by 
another copy) from a book intitled " The Mysteries 
of Love and Eloquence, &c." Lond. 1648. 8vo. 

Come, follow, follow me, 

You, fairy elves that be : 

Which circle on the greene, 

Come follow Mab your queene. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 5 

For this place is fairye ground. 

When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest ; 

Unheard, and unespy'd, 

Through key-holes we do glide ; 10 

Over tables, stools and shelves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 



And, if the bouse be foul 
With platter, dish, or bowl, 
Up stairs we nimbly .creep, 
And find the sluts asleep : 



.15 



There we pinch their armes and thighes ; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleanness kept, SO 

We praise the household maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For we use before we goe 
To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroomes head 25 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye, or wheat, 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink 
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. 30 

The brains of nightingales, 

With unctuous rat of snailes, 

Between two cockles stew'd, 

Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
Tailes of wormes, ana marrow of mice 35 

Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice. 

The grashopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile : 40 

And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewie grasse 

So nimbly do we passe, 

'1 he young and tender stalk 45 

Ne'er bends when we do walk : 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 



XXVI. 
THE FAIRIES FAHEWELL. 



This humorous old song fell from the hand of the 
witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop of Norwich, 
&c.) and is printed from his Pdttica Stromata, 1648, 
lxmo. (compared with the third edition of his 
poems, 1672.) It is there called " A proper new 
Ballad, entitled, The Fairies Farewell, or God-a- 
mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of 
The Meddow Brow, by the learned; by the un- 
learned, to the tune of Fortune." 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the 
abolition of monkery : Chaucer has, with equal hu- 
mour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in his 
" Wife of Bath's Tale." 

" In olde dayes of the King Artour, 

Of which that Bretons spekpn jcret honour, 



All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
The elf-ouene, with hire joly compagnie 
Danced nil oft in many a grene mede. 
This was the old opinion as 1 rede ; 
I speke of many hundred yeres ago , 
But now can no man see non elves mo. 
For now the grete charitee and prayeres 
Of limitoures and other holy freres, 
That serchen every land and every streme, 
As thikke as motes in the sonne heme, 
Blissing halles, cbambres, kichenes, and bourea, 
Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures, 
'1 h ropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 
This maketh that ther ben no faeries : 
For thf r as wont to walken was an elf, 
Ther walketh now the limitour himself. 



r 



448 



Tiiii rAiUlba rARfcWKLL. 



In undermeles and in morweninges, 

And sayth his Marines and his holy thinges, 

As he goth in his limitatioun. 

Women may now go safely up and doun, 

In every bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he, 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I. p. 2.S5. 

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford 
about three years, and afterwards as long bishop of 
Norwich, died in 1635, aetat 52. 

Farewell rewards and Fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies, 

Doe fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 6 

Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe T 

Lament, lament old Abbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 10 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have cbang'd your land : 
And all your children stoln from thence 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad, 
So little care of sleepe and sloth, 

These prettie ladies had. f 

When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelayes 25 

Of theirs, which yet remaine ; 
Were footed in Queene Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in ; 30 

They never danc'd on any heath, 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession : 
Their songs were Ave Maria, 35 

Their dances were procession. 
But now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond .the seas. 
Or further for religion fled, 

Or else tiiey take their ease. 40 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punish 'd sure : * 
It was a just and Christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
how the coramon-welth doth need 

Such justices as you 1 

tfow they have left our quarters ; 

A Register they have, 50 

Who can preserve their charters , 

A man both wise and grave. 



An hundred of their merry pranks 

By one that I could name 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 5 J 

To William for the same. 

To William Churne of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due, 
Who every meale can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true : 60 

To William all give audience. 

And pray yee for his noddle : 
For ail the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

•„• After these songs on the fairies, the reader 
may be curious to see the manner in which they 
were formerly invoked and bound to human service. 
In Ashmole's collection of MSS. at Oxford [Num. 
8?59, 1406, $,] are the papers of some Alchymist, 
which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms 
of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches, and Demons, 
principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his 
great work of transmuting metals. Most of them 
are too impious to be reprinted : but the two fol- 
lowing may be very innocently laughed at. 

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's " Alchymist," 
will find that these impostors, among their other 
secrets, affected to have a power over Fairies : and 
that they were commonly expected to be seen in a 
christal glass appears from that extraordinary book, 
" The Relation of Dr. John Dee's actions with 
Spirits, 1659," folio. 

" An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For myself 
I call Margarett Barrance ; but this will obteine 
any one that is not allready bownd.) 

" First, gett a broad square christall or Venice 
glasse, in length end breadth three inches. Then 
lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white 
henne, three Wednesdayes, or three Pridayes. Then 
take it out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate 
it. Then take three hazle sticks, or wands of an 
yeare groth : pill them fay re and white ; and make 
' them soe longe, as you write the Spiritts name, 
or Fayries name, which you call, three times on 
every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then 
bury them under some hill, whereas you suppose 
Fayries haunt, the Wednesday before you call her : 
and the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call 
her at eight or three or ten of the clocke, which be 
good planetts and houres for that turne : but when 
you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards 
the east. And when you have her, bind her to thai 
stone or glasse." 

" An unguent to nnnoynt under the eyelids, and upon 
the eyelids eveninge and mominge : but especi- 
ally when you call ; or find your sight not per- 
fect. 

" R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall 
glasse : but first wash it with rose-water, and mary- 
gold-water : the flowers 'to' be gathered towards 
the east. Wash it till the oyle come white ; then 
put it into the glasse, ut supra : and then put thereto 
the budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, 
the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the buaas of 
young hazle : end the thime must be gathered neare 
the side of a hill where Fayries use to be : and 
1 take ' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All 
these put into the oyle, into the glasse : and set it 
to dissolve three dayes in the sunne, and then keep 
it for thy use ; ut supra." 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



*» 



*4* 



After this receipt for the unguent follows a Form 
ef Incantation. Wherein the Alchymist conjures a 
Fairy, named Elaby Gathon, to appear to him in 
that chrystall glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve 
him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be 
obedient to all his commands, under pain of damna- 
tion, &c. 

One of the vulgar <n>i n»ons about Fairies is, that 
they cannot be seen b« liuman eye*, without a par- 



ticular charm exerted in favour of the person who 
is to see them : and that they strike with blindnes 
such as, having the gift of seeing them, take notice 
of tbem mal a-propos. 

As for the bazle sticks mentfoned above, the> 
were to be probably of that species called tbj 
" Witch Hazle;" which received its name fron 
this manner of applying it in incantations. 



TUB END OF BOOK THE SECOND. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 



BOOK HI. 



I. 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



The incidents in this, and the other ballad of" St. 
George and the Dragon," are chiefly taken from the 
old story-book of the Seven Champions of Christen- 
doms ; which, though now the plaything of chil- 
dren, was once in high repute. Bp. Hall, in his 
Satires, published in 1597, ranks 

" St George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 

among the most popular stories of his time ; and an 
ingenious critic thinks that Spencer himself did not 
disdain to borrow hints from it * ; though I much 
doubt whether this popular romance were written 
so early as the Faery Queen. 

The author of this book of the Seven Champions 
was one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns 
of Elizabeth and James, as we collect from his other 
publications; viz. — " The nine worthies of London : 
1599.1' 4tow— " The pleasant walks of Moor fields : 
1607," 4to. — " A crown garland of Goulden Roses, 
gathered, &c. 16H," 8vo.— " The life and death of 
Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, 1611," 4to— " The 
Hist, of Tom of Lincoln," 4to. is also by R. J. who 
likewise reprinted " Don Flores of Greece," 4to. 

1'he Seven Champions, though written in a wild 
inflated style, contains some strong Gothio painting ; 
which seems for the most part, copied from the me- 
trical romances of former ages. At least the story 
of St. George and the fair Sabra is taken almost 
verbatim from the old poetical legend of " Sir Bevis 
of Hampton.'* 

This very antique poem was in great fame in 
Chaucer's time [see above peg. f 20.], and is so con- 
tinued till the introduction of printing, when it ran 
through several editions, two of which are in black 
letter, 4to. " imprinted by Wyllvam Copland," with- 
out date ; containing great variations. 



As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very 
, old rhimist, and as a proof how closely the author of 
the Seven Champions has followed him, take a 
description of the dragon slain by Sir Bevis. 

" Whan the dragon, that foule is, 

Had a syght of Syr Bevis, 

He cast up a loude cry, 

As it had thondred in the sky ; 

He turned his bely towarde the son , 

It was greater than any tonne : 

His scales was bryghter then the glas, 

And harder they were than any bras : 

Betwene his abulder and his tayle, 

Was forty fote withoute fayle. 

He waltred out of his denne, 

And Bevis pricked his atede then, 

And to hym a spore he thraste 

That all to shy vers he it brasta : 

The dragon then gan Bevis assayle, 

And smote Syr Bevis with bis tayle : 

Then downe went horse and man, 

And two rybbes of Bevis brused than. 



m was 



* Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observation* on the Fairy Qoeen. 
* vol. 170S, lftmo. pamtm. 



*u«* v»»v» ijvirom w» juviw uiunvu i ■ ■«■ ■■» 

After a long fight, at length, as the dragoi 
preparing to fly, Sir Bevis 

" Hit him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, 

There he was tender without scale, 

And Bevis thought to be his bale. 

He smote after, as I you save, 

With his good sword Morglaye. 

Up to the hiltes Morglay yode 

Through harte, lvver, bone, and blonde ; 

To the ground fell the dragon, 

Great joye Syr Bevis begon. 

Under the scales al on bight : 

He smote off his head forth right. 

And put it on a spere : &c" Sign K. iv. 



toO 



THE B1R1H OF ST. GEORGE. 



Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that 
in the Seven Champions, see Chap. 111. vis. *' The 
dragon no sooner had a sight of him [St. George] 
hut he gave snch a terrible peal, as though it had 
thundered in the elements. • . . Betwixt his shoul- 
ders and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his 
scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more 
hard than brass ; his belly of the colour of gold, but 
bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, 
&c. . . . The champion . . . gave the dragon such 
a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thou- 
sand pieces : whereat the furious draeon so fiercely 
smote bim with his venomous tail, that down fell 
man and horse : in which fall two of St George's 

ribs were so bruised, &c. At length St. 

George smote the dragon under the wing where it 
was tender without scale, whereby his good sword 
Ascnlon with an easie passage went to the very hilt 
through both the' dragon's heart, liver, bone, and 
blood. — Then St. George cut off the dragon's bead, 
and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a spear, &c" 

The History of the Seven Champions, being 
written just before the decline of books of chivalry, 
was never, I believe, translated into any foreign 
language : but " Le Roman deBeuves of Hantonne" 
was published at Paris in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique. 

The learned Selden tells us, that about the time of 
the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the 
title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence was 
at Duncton in Wiltshire : but he observes, that 
the monkish enlargements of his story have made 
his very existence doubted* See Notes on Poly- 
Olbion, Song 111. 

This hath also been the case of St George him- 
self, whose martial history is allowed to be apocry- 
phal. But, to prove that there really existed an 
orthodox Saint of this name (although little or no- 
thing, it seems, is known of his genuine story) is 
the subject of " An Historical and Critical Inquiry 
into the Existence and Character of Saint George, 
etc. By the Her. J. Milner, F.S.A. 179t, 8ro. M 

The Equestrian Figure worn by the Knights o r 
the Garter, has been understood to be an emblem of 
the Christian warrior, in his spiritual armour, van- 
quishing the old serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may 
consult " A Dissertation on the Original of the 
Equestrian Figure of the George and of the Garter, 
enpigns of the most noble order of that name. Illus- 
trated with copper-plates. By John Pettingal, 
A.M. Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, London, 
1755," 4to. This learned and curious work the 
author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would 
have done well to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad 
is for the most part modern : for which reason it 
would have been thrown to the end of the volume, 
had not its subject procured it a place here. 

Listen, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing the wonderous birth 
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm 

Rid monsters from the earth : 



Distressed ladies to relieve 
He travell'd many a day ; 

In honour of the Christian faith, 
Which shall endure for aye. 



In Coventry sometime did dwell 

A knight of worthy fame, 1 3 

High steward of this noble reahne; 

Lord Albert was his name. 

He had to wife a princely dame, 

Whose beauty aid excelL 
This virtuous lady, being with child, 15 

In sudden sadness fell: 

For thirty nights no sooner sleep 

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes, 
But, lo ! a foul and fearful dream 

Her fancy would surprize : 20 

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 

Conceiv'd within her womb ; 
Whose mortal fangs her body rent 

Ere he to life could come. 

All woe-begone, and sad was she ; 2b 

She nouiiaht constant woe : 
Yet strove to hide it from her lord, 

Lest he should sorrow know. 

In vain she strove ; her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, 30 

Discovered soon her secret pain, 
And soon that pain partook. 

And when to bim the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart. 
With kindest speech he strove to heel 35 

The anguish of her heart. 

Be comforted, my lady dear, 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

I'll try to ease thy pain. 40 

And for this foul and fearful dream, 

That causeth all thy woe, 
Trust me 111 travel far away 

But J 11 the meaning knowe. 

Then giving many a fond embrace, 45 

And shedding many a teare, 
To the weird lady of the woods, 

He purpos'd to repaire. 

To the weird lady of the woods, 

Full long and many a day, 
Thro' lonely shades and thickets rough 

He winds his weary way. 

At length he reach 'd a dreary dell 

~Vith dismal yews o'erhung ; 
Wbnre cypress spred its mournful boughs, 55 

And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 

No cheerful gleams here piere'd the gloom, 

He hears no cheerful sound ; 
But shrill night-ravens' yelling screamy 

And serpents hissing round. GO 

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 

Ran howling thro' his ear: 
A chilling horror froze his heart, 

Tho' all unus'd to fear 



50 



•IHL BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



X51 



Three times be strives to win his way, 
And pierce those sickly dews : 

Three times to bear his trembling corse 
His knocking knees refuse. 

At length upon his beating breast 

He signs the holy crosse ; 
And, rouzing up his wonted might, 

He treads th' unhallowed mosse. 

Beneath a pendant craggy cliff, 

All vaulted like a grave. 
And opening in the solid rock, 

He found the inchanted cave. 

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth, 

All hideous and forlorne ; 
And, fasten'd by a silver chain, 

.Near hung a brazed borne. 

Then offering up a secret prayer, 
Three times he blowes amaine : 

Three times a deepe and hollow sound 
Did answer him againe. 

" Sir knight, thy lady beares a son, 

Who, like a dragon bright. 
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes. 

And terrible in fight. 

" His name advanced in future times 

On banners shall be worn : 
But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 

Before he can be born." 

All sore opprest with fear and doubt 
Long time Lord Albert stood ; 

At length he winds his doubtful way 
Back thro* the dreary wood. 

Eager to clasp his lovely dame 

Then fast he (ravels back : 
But when he reach'd his castle gate, 

His gate was hung with black. 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigne ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaioe ; 

And bitterly lament and weep, 

With many a grievous grone : 
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 

His lady's life was gone. 

With faultering step he enters in, 

Yet half affraid to goe ; 
With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 

Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

" Three times the snn hath rose and set ;" 
They said, then stopt to weep : 

" Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 
In death's eternal sleep. 

"For, ah ! in travel sore she fell 

So sore that she must dye ; 
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech ^ 

Could ease her presentlye. 



65 



70 



75 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



ISO 



" But when a cunning leech was fet. 

Too soon declared he, 
She, or her babe must lose its life ; 

Both saved could not be, 

" Now take my life, thy lady said. 

My little infant save : 
And O commend me to my lord. 

When 1 am laid in grave. 

" O tell him how that precious babe 

Cost him a tender wife : 
And teach my son to lisp her name, 

Who died to save his life. 

" Then calling still upon thy name, 

And praying still tor thee ; 
Without repining or complaint, 

Her gentle soul did flee." 

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe. 

The bitter tears he shed, 
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead? 

He beat his breast : he tore his hair ; 

And shedding many a tear, 
At length he askt to see his son ; 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all : 
At length they faultering say : 

" Alas ! my lord, how shall we tell 1 
Thy son is stoln away. 

" Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 

Such was his infant mien : 
And on his little body stampt 

Three wonderous marks were seen : 

"A blood-red cross was on his arm; 

A dragon on his breast : 
A little garter all of gold 

Was round his leg exprest. 

" Three carefull nurses we provide 

Our little lord to keep : 
One gave him sucke, one gave him food. 

And one did lull to sleep. 

" But lo ! all in the dead of nighty 

We beard a fearful sound : 
Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ;' 

And lightning flasht around. 

" Dead with affright at first we lay ; 

But rousing up anon, 
We ran to see our little lord : 

Our little lord was gone! 

" But how or where we could not tell , 

For lying on the ground, 
In deep and magic slumbers laid. 

The nurses there we found." 

O grief on grief! Lord Albret said t 
No more his tongue cou'd say, 

When falling in a deadly swoone, 
Long time he lifeless lay. 



125 



13C 



135 



MO 



145 



150 



155 



160 



165 



170 



175 



-J 



95t 



8T. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



At length restor'd to life and sense 

He nourisht endless woe, 
No future joy his heart could taste. 

No future comfort know. 

So withers on the mountain top 

A fair and stately oake, 
Whose vigorous arms are torne away 

By some rude thunder-stroke. 

At length his castle irksome grew, 
He loathes his wonted home ; 

His native country he forsakes, 
In foreign lands to roame. 



180 



185 



There up and downe he wandered far, 

Clad in a palmer's gown : 
Till his brown locks grew white as wool, 

His beard as thistle down. 

At length, all wearied, down in death 

He kid his reverend head. 
Meantime amid the lonely wilds 

His little son was bred. 



190 'i 



Then the weird lady of the woods 

Had borne him far away. 
And train'd him up in feates of armes. 

And every martial play. 



195 



[ 



200 



• • 



II. 



ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



The following ballad is given (with some correc- 
tions) from two ancient black-letter copies in the 
Pepys Collection: one of which is in 12mo, the 
other in folio. 

Or Hector's deeds did Homer sing ; 

And of the sack of stately Troy, 
What griefs fair Helena did bring, 

Which was Sir Paris' only joy : 
And by my pen [ will recite 5 

St George's deeds, an English knight 

Against the Sarazens so rude 

Fought he full long and many a day ; 

Where many gyaunts he subdu d, 
In honour of the Christian way • 10 

And after many adventurea past 

To Egypt lanu he came at last. 

Now, as the story plain doth tell, 
Within that country tbere did rest 

A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 15 

Whereby they were full sore opprest : 

Who by his poisonous breath eacn day, 

Did many of the city slay. 

The grief whereof did grow so great 
Throughout the limits of the land, 30 

That they were wise men did intreat 
To shew their cuuning out of hand ; 

What way they might this fiend destroy, 

1'hat did the country thus annoy. 

The wise men all before the king % 5 

This answer fram'd incontinent ; 

The dragon none to death might bring 
By any means they could invent : 

His skin more hard L'tan brass was found, 

That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 

When this the people understood, 31 

They cryed out most piteouslye, 
The dragon's breath infects their blood, 

That everye day in heaps they dye : 
Among them such a plague it bred, 35 

The living scarce could bury the dead. 



No means there were, as they could hear, 

For to appease the dragon s rage, 
But to present some virgin clear, 

Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 40 
Each daye be would a maiden eat. 
For to allay his hunger great. 

This thing by art the wise-men found, 

Which truly must observed be ; 
Wherefore throughout the city round 45 

A virgin pure of good degree 
Was by the king's commission still 
Taken up to serve the dragon's will. 

Thus did the dragon every day 

Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50 

Till all the maids were worn away. 

And none were left him to devour : 
Saving the king's fair daughter bright, 
Her father's only heart's delight 

Then came the officers to the king 5. 

That heavy message to declare, 
Which did his heart with sorrow sting ; 

She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir : 
O let us all be poisoned here, 
Ere she should die, that is my dear. t 

Then rose the people presently, 
And to the king in rage they went ; 

They said his daughter dear should dye. 
The dragon's fury to prevent : 

Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 65 

And have been made the dragon's prey : 

And by their blood we rescued were. 
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby j 

And now in sooth it is but fair, 

For us thy daughter so sould die. 70 

O save my daughter said the king ; 

And let me feel the dragon's sting* 

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee, 

And to her father dear did say, 
O father, strive not thus for me, 75 

But let me be the dragon's prey ; 



ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



855 



I 



It may be for my sake alone 

This plague upon the land was thrown. 

Tis better I should dye, she said, 

Than all your subjects perish quite ; 80 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid., 

For my offence to work his spite : 
And after he hith suckt my pore, 
Your land shall feel the grief no more. 

What hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85 
For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 

It is my fault, as may appear, 

Which makes the gods our state to purge; 

Then ought I die, to stint the strife, 

And to preserve thy happy life. 90 

Like mad-men, all the people cried, 

Thy death to us can do no good ; 
Our safety only doth abide 

In making her the dragon's food* 
Lo ! here 1 am, I come, quoth she, 95 

Therefore do what yon will with me. 

Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen, 

And as thou art a virgin bright, 
That hast for vertue famous been, 

So let me cloath thee all in white ; 100 

And crown thy bead with flowers sweet, 
An ornament tor virgins meet. 

And when she was attired so, 

According to her mother's mind, 
Unto the stake then did she go ; 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind : 
And being boand to stake a thrall, 
She bade farewell onto them all. 

Farewell, my father dear, quoth she, 
And my sweet mother meek and mild ; 110 

Take you no thought nor weep for me, 
For you may have another child : 

Since tor my country's good I dye, 

Death I receive most willinglye. 

The king and queen and all their train 115 

With weeping eyes went then their way 

And let their daughter there remain, 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weeping lye, 

Behold St George came riding by* 120 

And seeing there a lady bright 

So rudely tyed unto a stake, 
As well became a valiant knight, 

He straight to her his way did take : 
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he, 125 
What caitif thus abuseth thee ? 

And, lo ! by Christ his cross I vow, 
Which here is figured on my breast, 

I will revenge it on bis brow, 
And break my lance upon his chest: 130 

And speaking thus whereas he stood, 

The dragon issued from the wood. 

The lady that did first espy 

The dreadful dragon coming so, 
Unto St. George aloud did cry. 135 

And willed him away to go ; 



Here comes that cursed fiend auoth she. 
That soon will make an end ot me. 

St George then looking round about, 
The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 140 

And like a knight of courage stout, 
Against him did most fiercely ride ; 

And with such blows he did him greet, 

He fell beneath his horse's feet 

For with his lsunce that was so strong, 145 

As he came gaping in his face, 
In at his mouth he thrust along ; 

For he could pierce no other place : 
And thus within the lady's view 
This mighty dragon straight he slew, 150 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
Could do this holy knight no harm. 

Thus he the lady sav'd from death, 
And home be led her by the arm ; 

Which when King Ptolemy did see, 155 

There was great mirth and melody. 

When as that valiant champion there 
Had slain the dragon in the field, 

To court he brought the lady fair, 

Which to their hearts much joy did yield. 1 60 

He in the court of Egypt staid 

Till he most falsely was betray 'd. 

That lady dearly lov'd the knight, 

He counted her his only joy ; 165 

But when their love was brought to light, 

It turn'd unto their great annoy : 
TV Morocco king was in the court, 
Who to the orchard did resort, 



Dayly to take the pleasant air, 
For pleasure sake be ua'd to walk, 

Under a wall he oft did hear 
St George with Lady Sabra talk : 

Their love he shew'd unto the king. 

Which to St George great woe did bring. 

Those kings together did devise 
To make the Christian knight away, 

With letters htm in curteous wise 
They straightway sent to Persia : 

But wrote to the sophy him to kill, 

And treacherously his blood to spilL 

Thus they for good did him reward 

With evil, and most subtilly 
By such vile meanes they baa regard 

To work his death most cruelly ; 
Who, as through Persia land he rode, 
With seal destroy'd each idol god. 



170 



175 



180 



185 



For which offence he straight was thrown 

Into a dungeon dark and deep; 
Where, when he thought his wrong* upon, 190 

He bitterly did wail and weep : 
Yet like a knight of courage stoat, 
At length his way he digged out 



Three grooms of the Kins of Persia 
By night this valiant champion slew, 

Though he had fasted many a day ; 
And then away from thence he flew 



195 




On the best steed the sophy had ; 
Which when he knew he was full mad. 



200 



Towards Christendom he made his flight, 

But met a gyant by the way, 
With whom in combat be did fight 

Most valiantly a summer's day : 
Who yet, for all his bats of steel, 
Was rorc'd the sting of death to feel. 205 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 
Of warlike souldiers soon he past. 

Vowing upon those heathen lands 
To work revenge ; which at the last, 

Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 210 

lie wrought onto his heart's content. 



8ave onely Egypt land be sperM 
For Sabra bright her only sake, 

And, ere for her he had regard. 
He meant a tryal kind to make : 

Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 

Unto saint George did quickly yield. 



215 



Then straight Morocco's king he slew, 
And took fair Sabra to his wife, 

But meant to try if she were true 
Ere with her he would lead his life ; 

And, tho' he had her in his train, 

She did a virgin pure remain 

Toward England then that lovely dame 
The brave St George conducted strait, 

An eunuch also with them came, 
Who did upon the lady wait ; 

These three from Egypt went alone. 

Now mark St George s valour shown* 

When as they in a forest were, 

The lady did desire to rest : 
Mean while St. George to kill a deer, 

For their repast did think it best : 



tto 



225 



230 



Leaving her with the eunuch there, 
Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 



But lo ! all in his absence came 
Two hungry lyons fierce and fell, 

And tore the eunuch on the same 
In pieces small, the truth to tell ; 

Down by the lady then they laid, 

Whereby they ahew'd, she was a maid. 



But when he came from hunting back. 

And did behold this heavy chance, 
Then for his lovely virgin's sake 

His courage strait he did advance, 
And came into the lions sight, 
Who ran at him with all their might 



Their rage did him no whit dismay. 
Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 

Did both the hungry lyons slay 
Within the Lady Sabra's siglrt : 

Who all this while sad and demure, 

There stood most like a virgin pure. 



Now when St George did surely know 
This lady was a virgin true, 

His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 
And all his love did soon renew : 

He set her on a palfrey steed, 

And towards England came with speed. 



Where being in short space arriv'd 
Unto his native dwelling place ; 

Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 
And fortune did his nuptials grace 

They many years of joy did see, 

And led their lives at Coventry. 



235 



240 



245 



250 



255 



260 



265 



III. 
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 



This excellent song is ancient : but we could only 
give it from a modern copy. 

Over the mountains, 

And over the waves ; 
Under the fountains, 

And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest, 5 

Which Neptune obey ; 
Over rocks that are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 



Where there is no place 
For the glow-worm to lye . 

Where there is no space 
For receipt of a fly j 



10 



Where the midge dares not venture, 
Lest herself fast she lay ; 

If love come, he will enter, 
And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ; 
Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight : 
But if she, whom love doth honour, 

Be conceal'd from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some Aink to lose him, 

By having him confin'd j 
And some do suppose him, 

Poor thing, to be blind ; 



15 



20 



25 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR AN NET. 



25* 



Bat if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
Do the best that you may. 

Blind lore, if so ye call him, 
Will find out his way. 

Yon may train the eagle 
To stoop to your fist ; 



SO 



Oryou may inveigle 
The phenix of the east ; 

The lioness, ye may move her 
To give o'er her prey ; 

But you'll ne'er stop a lover 
He will find out his way. 



35 



40 



* 



IV. 
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET, 

▲ SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



seems to be composed (not without improve- 
ments) out of two ancient English ones, printed in 
the former part of this volume. See book I. ballad 
XV. and book II. ballad IV.— If this had been the 
original, the authors of those two ballads would 
hardly have adopted two such different stories : be- 
sides, this contains enlargements not to be found in 
either of the others. It is given, with some correc- 
tions, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 

Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sate a' day on a hill ; 
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 

They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
A' ! I will nevir wed a wife 

Against my ain friends will. 



Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 
A wife wull neir wed yee. 

Sae he is heme to tell his mither, 
And knelt upon his knee : 

rede, O rede, mither, he says, 
A gude rede gie to mee : 

O sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 
And let faire Annet bee ? 



10 



15 



I 



The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 

Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

O it wull soon be gane ! 20 

And he has till his brother gane : 

Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 

The nut-browne bride has kye ; 
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And cast fair Annet bye. 

Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, 30 

And her kye into the byre ; 
And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 

Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. 

And he has till his sister gane : 

Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 55 

And set fair Annet free t 



Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, 

And let the browne bride alane ; 
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace! 

What is this we brought hame 1 40 

No, I will tak my mithers, counsel, 

And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 

Fair Annet may leive the land. 

Up then rose fair Annets father 45 

Twa hours or it wer day, 
And be is gane into the bower, 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says. 
Put on your silken sheene ; 50 

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke, 
And see that rich weddeen. 

My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

My maids, gae to my dressing-room, 

And dress to me my smock ; 
The one half is o' the holland fine, 

The other o' needle-work. 60 

The horse fair Annet cade upon 

He omblit like the wind, 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

W ' burning gowd behind. 

Four and twantye siller bells 65 

Wer a' tyed till his mane, 
And yae tii't o' the norland wind, 

They tinkled ane by ane. 

Four and twantye gay gude knichts 

Rade by fair Annets side, 70 

And four and twanty fair ladies, 

As gin she had bin a bride* 

And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 

She sat on Maries stean : 
The deeding that fair Annet had on 75 

It Bkinkled in their een. 

And whan she cam into the kirk, 

She shimmerM like the sun ; 
The belt that was about her waist, 

Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 80 



f*6 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



She sat ber by the nut-browne bride, 

And ber een the? wer ne clear, 
Lord Thomas he clean forget the bride, 

Whan fair Annet she drew near. 

He bad a rose into hia hand, 85 

And he gave it kisses three, 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride. 

Laid it on fair Annets knee. 

Up than soak the nut-browne bride. 
She spak wi* meikle spite ; 90 

And whair gat ye that rose-water, 
That does male yee sae white 1 

O I did get the rose-water 

Whair ye wall neir get i 
For I did get that very 

Into my mithers wai 

The bride she drew a long bodkin, 

Free out her gay bead-gear, 
And str&ke fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak mair. i00 




95 



i< 



Lord Thomas be saw fair Annet wex pale, 

And marveht what mote bee : 
But whan he saw ber dear hearts blude, 

A' wood-wroth wexed bee. 

He drew bis dagger, that was sue sharp, 105 

That was sae sharp and meet, 
And drave into the nut-browne bride, 

That fell deid at his tt*iu 



Now stay for me, dear Annet, be sed, i 

Now stay, my dear, he crv'd ; 110 ' i 

Then strake the dagger untill his heart, 
And fell deid by her side. 

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk- 
Fair Annet within the quiere ; 

And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115 < 

The other a bonny briere. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw. 

As they wad faine be iieare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil. 

They were twa luvera dears. J 20 



V. 
UNFADING BEAUTY. 



This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a 
fmall volume of <f Poems by Thomas Carew, Esq. 
one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and 
sewer in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 
1610." This elegant and almostrforgotten writer, 
whose poems have been deservedly revived, died, in 
the prime of his age, in 1659. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; which, not 
being of general application, nor of equal merit, I 
here ventured to omit. 

Hxc, that loves a rosie cheeke, 
Or a corall Up admires, 



Or from star-like eyes doth aeeke 

Fuell to maintaine his fires, 
As old time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and stedfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and oahne desires). 

Hearts with equal love combin'd. 
Kindle never-dying fires: 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 



10 



VI. 
GEORGE BARNWELL. 



The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular 
from the modern play which is founded upon it. 
This wss written by George Lillo, a jeweller of 
London, and first acted about 1750. — As for the 
ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle 
of the last century. 

It is here given from three old printed copies, 
which exhibit a strange intermixture of Roman and 
black letter. It is also collated with another copy in 
the Ashmole Collection at Oxford, which is thus 
intitled, " An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, 
an apprentice of London, who ..thrice robbed his 



master and murdered hia vncle in Ludlow." The 
tune is " The Merchant." 

This tragical narrative seems to relate a reel fact ; 
but when tt happened I hare not been able to dis- 



cover. 



TUB FIBST PART. 



All y outh of fair England 
That dwell both far and near. 

Regard my story that I tell. 
And to my song give ear. 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



A London lad I was, 5 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 
My name George Barnwell ; that did spend 

My master many a pound. 

Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I bare been brought 

To hang alive in chains. 

As I, upon a day, 

Was watting through the street ' 

About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame, 

And sumptuous in attire ; 
With smiling look she greeted me. 

And did my name require. SO 

Which when I had declared, 

She gave me then a kiss, 
And said, if I would come to her, 

I should have more than this. 



Fair mistress, then quoth I, 
If I the place may know, 

This evening I will be with you. 
For I abroad must go. 

To gather monies in, 
Tnat are my master's due : 

And ere that I do home return. 
Ill come and visit you. 

Good Barnwell, then quoth she, 
Do thou to Shoreditch come, 

And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 
Next door unto the Gun. 

And trust me on my truth, 
If thou keep touch with me, 

My dearest friend, as my own heart 
l'hou shalt right welcome be. 

Thus parted we in peace, 
And home I passed right ; 

Then went abroad, and gathered in, 
By six o'clock at night, 

An hundred pound and one : 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house, 

And thought on little harm ; 

And knocking at the door, 

Straightway herself came down ; 

Rustling in most brave attire. 
With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright, 

So gloriously did shine, 
That she ama* d my dazzling eyes. 

Saw seemed so divine. 



25 



SO 



35 



40 



45 



50 



65 



She took me by the hand, 

And with a modest grace. 
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Unto this homely place. 60 



And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be : 
A homely supper, ere we part, 

Thou shalt take here with me. 

O pardon me, quoth I, 6*5 

Fair mistress, I you pray ; 
For why, out of my master's house, 

So long I dare not stay. 

Alas, good sir, she said, 

Are you so strictly ty'd, 70 

You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour or two abide 1 

Faith, then the case is hard ; 

If it be so, quoth she, 
I would I were a prentice bound, 75 

To live along with thee : 

Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say, 
And do not blame a woman much, 

Her fancy to bewray. / 80 

Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it r.ot immodesty, 

I should thy love require. 

With that she turn'd aside, 85 

And with a blushing red, 
A mournful motion she bewray *d 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkerchief she had 

All wrought with silk and gold : 90 

Which she to stay her trickling team 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 

Was wondrous rare and strange ; 
And in my soul and inward thought 95 

It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew, 

To take her by the hand : 
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? 100 

Call me no mistress now, 

But Sarah, thy true friend, 
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, 

Until her life hath end. 

If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 

Thou art in years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy. 

Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, 110 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace, 

I sunt with her that night, 

W ith joys that did abound ; 
And for the same paid presently, 115 

In money twice three pound. 



tm 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



* » 



An hundred kisses then, 

For my farewel sbe gave ; 
Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 

Again thy company have! 

O stay not hence too long, _ 

Sweet George, have me in mind. 

Her wprds bewicht my childishness, 
She uttered them so kind : 

So that I made a vow, 

Next Sunday without fail, 
With my sweet Sarah once again 

To tell some pleasant tale. 

When she heard me say so, 
- The tears fell from her eye ; 
O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail, 
Th/ Sarah sure will dye. 

Though long, yet loe ! at last, 
The appointed day was come, 

That 1 must with my Sarah meet ; 
Having a mighty sum 

Of money in my hand*, 

Unto her house went I, 
Whereas my love upon her bed 

In saddest sort did lye. 

What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? quoth I ; 
Let not my love lament and grieve, 

Nor sighing pine, and die. 

But tell me, dearest friend. 

What may thy woes amend, 
And thou snalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend. 

With that she turn'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say, 
Oh me, .sweet George, my grief is great, 

Ten pound 1 have to pay 

Un'o a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows, quoth she, 
1 have it not. Tush, rise I said, 

And take it here of me. 

Ten pounds, nor ten times ten, 

Shall make my love decay. 
Then from my bag into her lap, 

I cast ten pound straightway. 

AH bli'he and pleasant then, 

To banqueting we go ; 
She profFered me to lye with her, 

And said it should be so 

And after that same time, 

I gave her store of coyn, 
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once; 

All which I did purloyn. 



120 



125 



130 



155 



140 



145 



150 



155 



160 



165 



9 The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, Ac. 
•hews this nan alive to have betn penned before the civil 
wars : the strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to 
change of manners at that period. 



And thus I did pass on ; 

Until my master then 
Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say : 
For well I knew that I was oat 

Two hundred pound that day. 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 

" But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe. 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The second past may ahowe," 

THE SECWB PART. 

Youvo Barnwall comes to thee 

Sweet Sarah, my delight ; 
I am undone unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night. 

Our master to accompts 
Hath just occasion found ; 

And 1 am cauebt behind the hand 
Above two hundred pound : 

And now his wrath to 'scape, 

My love, 1 fly to thee, 
Hoping some tune 1 may remaine 

In sefety here with thee. 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, What should I have to do 

With any prentice boyl 

And seeing you have purloynM 
Your masters goods away, 

The case is bad, and therefore here 
You shall no longer stay. 

Why, dear, thou know'st, I said, 
How all which I could get, 

I gave it, and did spend it all 
Upon thee every whit. 

Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 
To charge me in this sort, 

Being a woman of credit fair, 
And known of good report 

Therefore I tell the flat. 

Be packing with good speed , 

I do defie thee from my heart, 
And scorn thy filthy deed. 

Is this the friendship, that 

You did to me protest 1 
Is this the great affection, which 

You so to me exprestt 

Now fie on subtle shrews 1 
The best is, I may speed 

To get a lodging any *here 
For money in my need. 



iro 



175 ;j 



180 



M 



10 



15 



SO 



2. 1 ii 



30 , 



$b 



40 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



t*» 



Fal*e woman, now farewell, 

Whilst twenty pound doth last. 
My anchor in some other haven 

With freedom 1 will cast. 

When she perceiv'd hy this, 45 

I had store of money there 
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: 

Why, man, I did but jeer : 

.Dost think for all my speech. 

That I .would let thee go t 50 

Faith no, said she, my love to thee 

I wias is more than so* 

You scorne a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear, 
Wherefore I will not trouble yon. 55 

Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 

Thou shalt not go to-night. 

What chance soe're befall : 
But man well hare a bed for thee, 

else the devil take alL 60 

So I by wiles bewitcht 

And snar'd with fancy still, 
Had then no power to ' get' away, 

Or to withstand her will. 

For wine on wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer upon good cheer ; 
And nothing in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 

Whilst in her company, 

1 had such merriment ; TO 
All, all too little I did think. 

That I upon her spent. 

A fig for care and thought ! 

When all my gold is gone, 
In faith, my girl, we will hare more, 75 

Whoever I light upon. 

My father's rich, why then 

Should 1 want store of gold T 
Nay with a father sure, quoth she, 

A son may well make nold. 80 

I've a sister richly wed, 

111 rob her ere I'll want. 
Nay then, quoth Sarah, they may weD 

Consider of you scant. 

Nay, I an uncle have : 85 

At Ludlow he doth dwell : 
He is a graxier, which in wealth 

Doth all the rest excelL 

Ere I will live in lack, 

And have no coyn for thee ; 90 

111 rob his house, and murder him. 

Why should you not? quoth she : 

» 

Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate : 
On father, friends, and all my kin, 

I would my talons grate. 95 



For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast : 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest* 100 

For shouldst thou be pursued 

Wirb twenty hues and cryes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus' hundred eyes. 

Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 10) 

8uch privy waves there be, 
That if they sought an hundred years, 

They could not find out thee. 

And so carousing both 

1 heir pleasures to content : 110 

George Barnwell had in little space 

His money wholly spent. 

Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go, 
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; 115 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way, 
But that he fear'tl his master had 

Took order for his stay . 120 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 
Who with a welcome and good cheer 

Did Barnwell entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed 125 

Until it chanced so, 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market go. 

His kinsman rode with him, 

Where he did see right plain, ISO 

Great store of money be had took : 

When coming home again. 

Sudden within a wood, 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head ; 1S5 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

Then seizing fourscore pound, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruell fact descryed. 140 

Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort. 

And deck us fine an4 brave. 

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 

Until their store was gone : 
When means to get them any more, 

1 wis, poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door : 150 

Which is the just reward of tboa*. 

Who spend upon a whore. 

• i. c. for itopplng and apprehending him at h» father's, 

s * 



J ---^ 



±60 



THE 8TEDFA3T SHEPHERD. 



! do me not disgrace 
In this my need, quoth he 

She call'd him thief and murderer, 
With all the anight might be : 

To the constable she sent, 
To have him apprehended ; 

And shewed how far, in each degree, 
He had the laws offended. 

When Barnwell saw her drift, 
To sea he got straightway ; 

Where fear and sting of conscience 
Continually on him lay. 

Unto the lord mayor then, 
He did a letter write; 



155 



160 



165 



In which bis own and Sarah's fault 
He did at large recite. 

Whereby she seised was 

And then to Ludlow sent : 170 

Where she was judg'd, condemned, said hangM, 

For murder incontinent. 



There dyed this gallant quean, 
Such was her greatest gains : 

For murder in Polonia, 

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 

Lo ! here's the end of youth. 
That after harlots haunt ; 

Who in the spoil of other men, 
About the streets do flaunt* 



175 



*\ 



180 



VII. 
THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. 



These beautiful stanzas were written by George 
Wither, of whom some account was given in the 
former part of this Volume : see the 8ong intitled 
" The Shepherd's Resolution," Book II. Song XXI. 
In the first Edition of this work only a small frag- 
ment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was after- 
wards rendered more complete and entire by the 
addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's 
pastoral poem, intitled, " The Mistress of Ptrilarete," 
of which this Song makes a part. It is now given 
still more correct and perfect by comparing it with 
another copy, printed by the author in his improved 
edition of " The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo. 

Henct away, thou Syren, leave me, 

Pish ! unclaspe these wanton armes ; 
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 
(Though thou prove a thousand charmes). 

Fie, fie, forbeare ; 5 

No common snare 
Can ever my affection chains : 

Thy painted baits, 

And poore deceits, 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 

I'me no slave to such, as you be ; 
Neither shall that snowy brest, 
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 
Ever robb me of my rest : 

Goe, goe, display 

Thy beantie's ray 
To some more-soone enamour'd swains : 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles 
Are all bestowed on ms in vaine. 



15 



SO 



I have elsewhere rowed a dutie ; 
Turne away thy tempting eye : 
Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
These impostures 1 defie : 
My spirit lothes 
Wnere gawdy clothes 



t5 



And rained othea may love obtains) : 

I love her so, 

Whose looke sweares No ; 
That all your labours will be vaine. 



Can he prise the tainted posies, 

Which on every brest are worne ; 
That may plucke the virgin roses 
From their never-touched thorne 1 

I can goe rest 

On her sweet brest, 
That ia the pride of Cynthia's trains : 

Then stay thy tongue j 

Thy mermaid song 
Is all bestowed on me m vaine. 



35 



i 



40 



Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, 

Where each peasant mates with him : 
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies. 
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbet 

No, no, though clownes 

Are scar'd with frownes, 
I know the best can but disdaine : 

And those He prove : 

So will thy love 
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 



I doe scorn to vow a dutie, 

Where each lustfull lad may wooe : 
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie 
Buszards dare not soare unto : 
Shee, shee it is 
Affoords that bliss© 
For which 1 would refuse no pains t 
But such ss you, 
Fond fooles, adieu ; 
You seeke to captive me in vaine. 



55 



Ob 



»w 



.'«■ 



THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECT8 OF JEALOUSY. 



861 



f .eave me then, you Syrens, leave me ; 
Seeke no more to worke my hannes : 
'Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 

Who am proofe against your charmec : 
You labour may 
To lead astray 



65 



The heart, that constant shall remains i 

And I the while 

Will sit and smile 
To see you spend your time in vaine. 



TO 



VIII. 



THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 



10 



The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio 
collection of tragical stories, entitled, " The theatre 
>f God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 
1642." Pi. *. p. 89,— The text is given (with cor- 
rections) from two copies ; one of them in black- 
letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza 
is accompanied with the following distich by way of 
burden : 



" Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 
Depart from hence, and therein dwell." 

All tender hearts, that ake to hear 

Of those that suffer wrong ; 
All you, that never shed a tear, 

ti'ive heed unto my song. 

Fair Isabella's tragedy 

My tale doth far exceed : • 

Alas, that so much cruelty 

In female hearts should breed ! 

In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 

Who was of high degree ; . 

Whose wayward temper did create 
Much woe and misery. 

Strange jealousies so fill'd her head 

With many a vain surmize, 
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 

And did her love despise. 

A gentlewoman passing fair 

Did on this lady wait ; 
With bravest dames she might compare ; 

Her beauty was compleat. 

Her lady cast a jealous eye 

Upon this gentle maid ; 
And taxt her with disloyaltye J 

And did her oft upbraid. 

In silence still this maiden meek 

Her bitter taunts would bear, 
While ok adown her lovely cheek 

Would steal the falling tear. 

In vain in humble sort she strove 

Her fury to disarm ; 
As well the meekness of the dove 

The bloody hawke might charm. 

Her lord, of humour light and gay, 

And innocent the while. 
As oft as she came in his way, 

Would on the damsell smile 



15 



SO 



25 



30 



36 



And oft before his lady's face, 

As thinking her her friend, 
He would the maiden's ir.odest grace 

And comeliness commend. 40 

All which incens'd his lady so, 

She burnt with wrath extreame ; 
At length the fire that long did glow. 

Burst forth into a flame. 

For on a day it so befell, 45 

When he was gone from home, 
The lady all with rage did swell, 

And to the damsell' come. 

And charging her with great offence, 

And many a grievous fault ; 50 

She bade her servants drag her thence, 
Into a dismal vault, 

That lay beneath the common-shore : 

A dungeon dark and deep : 
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 

Offenders great to keep. 

There never light of chearful day 

Dispers'd the hideous gloom ; 
But dank and noisome vapours play 

Around the wretched room : 60 

And adders, snakes, and toads therein ' 

As afterwards was known, 
Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 

And were to monsters grown. 

Into this foul and fearful place, 65 

The fair one innocent 
Was cast, before her lady's face ; 

Her malice to content. 

This maid no sooner enter'd is, 

But strait, alas ! she hears 70 

The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 

Then grievously she fears. 

Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 

And fiercely her assail . 
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 

And her sad fate bewail. 

With her fair hands she strives in vain 

Her body to defend : 
With shrieks and cries she doth compiam, 

But all is to no end* 00 



S6t 



JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND. 



A servant listning near the door, 

Struck with her doleful noise, 
Strait ran bis lady to implore , 

Bnt she'll not hear his voice. 

With bleeding heart he goes a^en 85 

To mark the maiden'* groans ; 
And plainly bears, within the den, 

How she herself bemoana. 

Again he to his lady bias 

With all the haste he may : 90 

She into furious passion flies. 

And orders him away. 

Still back again does he return 

To hear her tender cries ; 
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn ; 95 

Which fill'd him with surprize. 

In grief, and horror, and affright, 

He listens at the walls ; 
But finding all was silent quite, 

He to his lady calls. 100 



Too sure, O lady, now quoth he, 

Your cruelty nath sped ; 
Make hast, for shame, and come and 

I fear the virgin's dead. 



She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105 

And does with torches run : 
But all her haste was now too late, 

For death bis worst had done. 

The door being open'd, strait they found 

The virgin stretch *d along : 110 

Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round. 
Which her to death had stung. 

One round her legs, her thighs, her wast, 

Had twin'd his fatal wreath : 
The other close her neck embrac'd, 115 

And stopt her gentle breath. 

The snakes, being from her body thrust, 

Their bellies were so fill'd, 
That with excess of blood they burst, 

Thus with their prey were kilTd. ISO 

The wicked lady, at this sight, 

With horror strait ran mad ; 
So raving dy'd, as was most right, 

'Cause she no pity had. 

Let me advise you, ladies all, lib 

Of jealousy beware : 
It causeth many a one to mil. 

And is the devil's snare. 



IX. 
JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND. 



This song is by Drydan, being inserted in his 
Tragi-Comedy of "Love Triumphant," &c— On 
account of the subject, it is inserted here. 

What state of life can be so blest, 
As love that warms the gentle brest ; 
Two souls in one ; the same desire 
To grant the bliss, and to require ? 

If in this heaven a hell we find, 5 

Tis all from thee, 
O Jealousie ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 

All other 31s, though sharp they prove, 

Serve to refine and perfect love . 



In absence, or unkind disdaine, 
Sweet hope relieves the lovers peine : 
But, oh, no cure but death we find 

To sett us free 

From jealousie, i 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind 

False in thy glass all objects are. 
Some sett too near, and some too far: 
Thou art the fire of endless night, 
The fire that burns, and gives no light. 
All torments of the damn'd we find 
In only thee, 
O Jealousie ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind* 



lb 



*0 



7"*= 



CONSTANT PENELOPE. 



*63 



X. 
CONSTANT PENELOPE. 



Hie ladies are indebted for the following; notable 
documents to the Pepya Collection, where the ori- 
ginal is preserved in black-letter, and is in titled, 
" A Looking-glass for Ladies, or a Mirronr for 
Married Women. Tune, Queen Dido, or Troy 
town." 

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife, 
And lords in armour bright were seen ; 

When many a gallant lost his life 
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen ; 

Ulysses, general so free, 5 

Did leave his dear Penelope. 

When she this wofull news did hear. 
That he would to the warn of Troy ; 

For grief she shed full many a tear, 

At parting from her only joy : 10 

Her ladies all about her came, 

To comfort up this Grecian dame. 

Ulysses, with a heary heart, 

Unto her then did mildly say, 
The time is come that we must part ; 15 

My honour calls me hence away; 
Yet in my absence, dearest, be 
My constant wife, Penelope. 

Let me no longer live, she sayd, 

Then to my lord I true remain ; SO 

My honour shall not be betray'd 

Until I see my love again j 
For I will ever constant prove, 
As is the loyal turtle-dove. 

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 95 

And to the skins his way he took ; 
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear ; 

Still casting many a longing look : 
She saw him on die surges glide, 
And unto Neptune thus she cryM s 30 

Thou god, whose power is in the deep. 

And rulest in the ocean main, 
My loving lord in safety keep 

Till he return to me again : 
That I his person may behold, 55 

To me more precious far than gold. 

Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
Were all convey 'd out of her sight : 

Her cruel fate she then bewails, 
Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40 

Now shall my practice be, quoth she, 

True vertue and humility. 

My patience I will put in ure, 

My charity I will extend ; 
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45 

The helpless now I will befriend t 
The widow and the fatherless 
I will relieve wL«c in distress 



Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 60 

Her fame was noised every where, 

To young and old the same was known. 
That she no company would mind, 
Who were to vanity inclin'd. 

Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 65 

'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life : 

Young gallants, hearing of ber name, 
Came flocking for to tempt his wife : 

For she was lovely, young, and fair. 

No lady might with her compare. 40 

With costly gifts and jewels fine, 

They did endeavour her to win ; 
With banquets and the choicest wine, 

For to allure her unto sin : 
Most persons were of high degree, 65 

Who courted fair Penelope. 

With modesty and comely pace 

Their wanton suits she did denye : 
No tempting charms could e'er deface 

Her dearest husband's memorye ; 70 

But constant she would still remain, 
Hopeing to see him once again. 

Her book her dayly comfort was, 

And that she often did peruse ; 
She seldom looked in her glass ; 75 

Powder and paint she ne'er would use* 
I wish all lad.es were as free 
From pride, as was Penelope. 

She in her needle took delight, 

And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 80 

Her maids about her every night 

Did use the distaff, and the reel : 
The spiders, that on rafters twine, 
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 

Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85 

And absence of her dearest love : 
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross, 

Her fortune on the waves to prove. 
7 fear my lord is slain, quoth she, 
He stays so from Penelope. 90 

At length the ten years siege of Troy 
Did end ; in flames the city burn d ; 

And to the Grecians was great joy. 
To see the towers to sshes turn'd : 

Then came Ulysses home to see 95 

His constant, dear, Penelope. 

O blame her not if she was glad, 

When she her lord again had seen. 
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said, 

A long time absent thou hast been : 100 

The wars shall never more deprive 
Me of my lord whilst I'm alive. 



|= 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



Fair ladies ill, example take; 

And benoe a wortny lesson learn. 
All youthful follies to forsake. 



105 



And rice from rirtne to discern t 
And let all women strive to bo 
Aa constant as Penelope. 



XI. 



TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. 



By Col. Richard Lovelace : from the volume of 
hia poems, intiUed "Lucasta, Lond. 1649," ISmo. 
The elegance of this writer's manner would be more 
admired if it had somewhat more of simplicity. 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 

That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde 

To wane and armes I fiie. 



True, a new miatreaae now I chase, 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbraoa 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such, 

As you too shall adore ; 
I could not lore thee, deare, so much* 

Lov'd I not honour more. 



10 



XII. 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which 
suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly 
followed in it) was originally a translation from the 
French, being one of tneir earliest attempts at ro- 
mance. 8ee " Le Bibliotheque de Romans, ore" 

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken 
from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has 
also been copied in the Seven Champions. The 
original are, 

" Over the dyke a bridge there lay, 
That man and beest might passe away: 
Under the bridge where sixty belles ; 
Right as the Romans telles ; 
That there might no man passe in, 
But all they rang with a gyn." 

Sign. E. iv. 

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this 
subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the 
press : from which were taken such particulars as 
could be adopted. 

PART TBI FIRST. 

When Flora 'gins to decke the fields 

With colours fresh and fine, 
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing 

To good Saint Valentine ! 

The King of France that morning (air 5 

He would a hunting ride : 
To Artois forest prancing forth 

In all his princelye pride. 



To grace his sports a courtly tram 

Of gallant peers attend ; 
And with their loud and cheerful cryes 

The hills and valleys rend. 



10 



Through the deep forest swift they pass, 
Through woods and thickets wild ; 

When down within a lonely dell 
They found a new-bom child j 

AH in a scarlet kercher lay'd 

Of silk so fine and thin : 
A golden mantle wrapt him round, 

Pinn'd with a silver pin. 

The sudden sight surprizVl them all ; 

The courtiers gather'd round ; 
They look, they call, the mother seek; 

No mother could be found. 

At length the king himself drew near. 

And aa he gazing stands, 
The pretty babe look'd up and amil'd, 

And stetch'd his little nands. 

Now, by the rood, King Pepin says, 

This child is passing fair : 
I wot he is of gentle blood ; 

Perhaps some prince's heir. 

Goe bear him home unto my court 

With all the care ye may : 
Let him be christen'd Valentine, 

In honour of this day : 

And look me out some cunning nurse ; 

Well nurtur'd let him bee ; 
Nor ought be wanting that becomes 

A bairn of high degree. 



15 



SO 



S5 



50 



55 



40 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



S6» 



They look'd him oat a cunning none; 

And nurtnr'd well was hee ; 
Nor oupht was wanting that became 

A bairn of high degree. 

Thus grewe the little Valentine, 45 

Belov'd of king and peers ; 
And shewVl in afi be spake or did 

A wit beyond his years. 

Bat chief in gallant feates of arms 

He did himself advance, 50 

That ere he grewe to man's estate 

He had no peere in France. 

And now the early downe began 

To shade his youthful chin ; 
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55 

That he might glory win. 

A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 

I beg a boon of thee ! 
The first adventure that befalls, 

May be reserv'd for mee. 6b 

The first adventure shall be thine ; 

The ku\g did smiling say. 
Nor many days, when lo ! there came 

Three palmers clad in graye. 

Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd ; 65 

And knelt, as it was meet : 
From Artoys forest we be come, 

With weak and wearye feet. 

Within those deep and drearye woods 

There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 

'Mong ruthless beares he sure waa bred ; 

He lurks within their den : 
With beares he lives ; with beares he feeds, 75 

And drinks the blood of men. 

To more than savage strength he joins 

A more than human skill : 
For arms, ne cunning may suffice 

His cruel rage to still : 80 

Up then rose Sir Valentine, 

And claim'd that arduous deed, 
Go forth and conquer, say'd the king. 

And great shall be thy meed. 

Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 

.His armour white as snow ; 
As well beseem'd a virgin knight, 

Who ne'er had fought a foe : 

To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 

His unkempt hair all matted hung 

His shaggy shoulders round : 
His eager eye all fiery glow'd : 95 

His face with fury frown'd. 



Like eagles' talons grew his nails : 
His limbs were thick and strong; 

And dreadful was the knotted oak 
He bare with him along. 

Soon as Sir Valentine approach 'd, 
He starts with sudden spring; 

And yelling forth a hideous howl, 
He made the forests ring. 

As when a tyger fierce and fell 

Hath spyed a passing roe, 
And leaps at once upon his throat ; 

So sprung the savage foe j 

So lightly leap'd with furious force 
The gentle knight to seizes 

But met his tall uplifted spear, 
Which sunk him on his knees. 

A second stroke so stiff and stern 

Had laid the savage low ; 
But springing up, he rais'd his club, 

And aim'd a dreadful blow. 

The watchful warrior bent his head, 
And shun'd the coming stroke ; 

Upon his taper spear it tell, 
And all to shivers broke. 

Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 
He drew his burnisht brand : 

The savage quick as lightning flew 
To wrest it from bis hand. 

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt; 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious force j 

Three ghastly wounds it made. 

Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 

His eye-ball flasb'd with fire ; 
Each hairy limb with fury shook ; 

And all his heart was ire. 



Then closing fast with furious gripe 
He clasp'd the champion round, 

And with a strong and sudden twist 
He laid him on the ground, 

But soon the knight with active spring, 

O'erturn'd his hairy foe : 
And now between their sturdy fists 

Past many a bruising blow. 

They roll'd and grappled on the ground, 
And there they struggled long : 

Skilful and active was the knight ; 
The savage he was strong. 

But brutal force and savage strength 

To art and skill must yield : 
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd 

And won the well-fought field. 

Then binding strait his conquer'a foe 

Fast with an iron chain, 
He tyes him to his horse's tail, 

And leads him o'er the plain. 



100 



105 



110 



115 



J 20 



125 



150 



135 



140 



115 



150 






266 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



To court his hairy captive soon 

Sir Valentine aoth bring ; 
And kneeling- down upon his knee, 

Presents him to the king. 

With loss of blood and loss of strength 

The savage tamer grew ; 
And to Sir Valentine became 

A servant try'd and true. 



j i 



155 



160 



And 'cause with beares he erst 
Ursine they call his name ; 

A name which unto future times 
The Muses shall proclame. 



bred, 



PAST THE SECOND. 

In high renown with prince and peere 

Now liv'd Sir Valentine : 
His high renown with prince and peere 

Made envious hearts repiue. 

It chanc'd the king upon a day 5 

PreparM a sumptuous feast : 
And there came lords, and dainty dames. 

And many a noble guest. 

Amid their cups, that freely flow'd, 

Their revelry and mirth, 10 

A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 

Of base and doubtful birth. 

The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd, 

His generous heart did wound : 
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15 

Till he his parents found. 

Then bidding king and peers adieu, 

Early one summer's day, 
With faithful Ursine by his side, 

.From court he took nis.way. 20 

O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 

For many a day they pass ; 
At length, upon a moated lake, 

They found a bridge of brass* 

Beyond it rose a castle fair, 25 

I -built of marble stone : 
The battlements were gilt with gold, 

And glittred in the sun. 

Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 

A hundred bells were bung ; 30 

That man, nor beast, might pass thereon, 
But strait their larum rung. 

This quickly found the youthful pair, 

Who. boldly crossing o'er, 
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35 

And rung from shore to shore. 

Quick at the sound the castle gates 

Unlock'd and opened wide, 
And strait a gyant huge and grim 

Stalk'd forth with stately pride 40 

Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ; 

He cried with hideous roar ; 
Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh, 

And ravens driuk your gore. 

Vt-r. 23. i. e. n lake that served for a moat to a castle. 



Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 4* 

I scorn thy threats and thee : 
I trust to force thy brazen gates. 

And set thy captives free. 

Then putting spurs unto his steed. 

He aim'd a dreadful thrust : 50 

The spear against the gyant glanc'd, 

And cans d the blood to burst. 

Mad and outrageous with the pain, 

He whirl'd his mace of steel : 
The very wind of such a blow 51 

Had made the champion reel. 

It haply mist ; and now the knight 

His glittering sword display 'd, 
And riding round with whirlwind speed 

Oft made him feel the blade. 60 

As when a large and monstrous oak 

Unceasing axes hew : 
So fast around the gyant's limbs 

The blows quick-darting flew. 

As when the boughs with hideous fid 6b 

Some hapless woodman crush : 
With such a force the enormous foe 

Did on the champion rush. 

A fearful blow, alas ! there came. 

Both horse and knight it took, 70 

And laid them senseless in the dust ; 

So fatal was the stroke. 

Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 

The gyant strides in haste. 
And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 75 

'* Now caytiff breathe thy last !" 

But ere it fell, two thundering blows 

Upon his scull descend : 
From Ursine's knotty club they came, % 

Who ran to save his friend. 8C 

Down sunk the gyant gaping wide, 

And rolling his grim eyes : 
The hairy youth repeats his blows : 

He gasps, he groans, he dies. 

Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd 85 

With Ursine's timely care : 
And now to search the castle walls 

The venturous youths repair. 

The blood and bones of murderM knights 

They found where'er they came : 90 

At length within a lonely cell 
They saw a mournful dame. 

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears ; 

Her cheeks were pale with woe : 
And long Sir Valentine besought 95 

Her doleful tale to know. 

" Alas ! young knight," she weeping said. 

Condole my wretched fate ; 
A childless mother tare you see J 

A wife without a mate. 100 



" These twenty winters here forlorn 

I've drawn my hated breath ; 
Sole witness of a monster's crimes, 

And wishing aye for death, 

" Know, 1 am sister of a king, 105 

And in my early years 
Was married to a mighty prince, 

The fairest of his peers. 

41 With him I sweetly liv'd in love 

A twelvemonth and a day ; 110 

When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 

Y -wrought our loves' decay. 

" His seeming goodness wan him pow'r j 

He had his master's ear : 
And long to me and all the world 115 

He did a saint appear. 



" One day, when we were all alone, 
He proffer'd odious love : 

The wretch with horrour I repuls'd. 
And from my presence drove. 



1*0 



" He feign'd remorse, and pitious heg'd 

His crime I'd not reveal : 
Which, for his seeming penitence, 

I promis'd to conceal. 



€1 



125 



ISO 



155 



140 



I 



With treason, villainy, and wrong, 
My goodness he repay 'd : 
With jealous doubts he fiU'd my lord, 
And me to woe betray'd. 

" He hid a slave within my bed, 

Then rais'd a bitter cry. 
My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd 

Me, all unheard, to dye. 

" But, 'cause I then was great with child. 

At length my life he spar'd : 
But bade me instant quit the realme, 

One trusty knight my guard. 

" Forth on my journey I depart, 

Opprest with grief and woe ; 
And tow Yds my brother's distant court, 

With breaking heart, I goe. 

" Long time thro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along : 
At length, within a forest wild, 

I feu in labour strong : 



" And while the knight for succour sought, 145 

And left me there forlorn, 
My childbed pains so fast increast 

Two lovely boys were born. 

" The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow 

That tips the mountain hoar : 150 

The younger's little body rough 
With hairs was cover d o'er. 

" But here afresh begin my woes : 

While tender care 1 took 
To shield my eldest from the cold 155 

And wrap him in my cloak j 



*' A prowling bear burst from the wood. 

And seiz'd my younger *on . 
Affection lent my weakness wings, 

And after them 1 run. 160 

" But all forewearied, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And there beneath the greenwood shade 

Long time 1 lifeless lay. 

"At length the knight brought me relief, 165 

And rais'd me from the ground : 
But neither of my pretty babes 

Could ever more be round. 

" And, while in search we wanderM far, 

We met that gyant grim ; 170 

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight, 
And bare me off with him. 

" But charm 'd by heav'n, or else my griefs, 

He offer'd me no wrong ; 
Save that within these lonely walls 175 

I've been immur'd so long." 

Now, surely, said the youthful knight. 

You are Lady Bellisance, 
Wife to the Grecian emperor : 

Your brother's King of France* 180 

For in your royal brother's court 

Myself my breeding had ; 
Where oft the story of your woes 

Hath made my bosom sad. 

If so, know your accuser's dead, 

And dying own'd his crime ; 
And long your lord hath sought you out 

Thro' every foreign clime. 

And when no tidings he could learn 

Of his much-wronged wife, 190 

He vow'd thenceforth within his court 
To lead a hermit's life. 

Now heaven is kind ! the lady said ; 

And dropt a joyful tear : 
8hall I once more heboid my lord? 196 

That lord I love so dear? 



185 



But, madam, said Sir Valentine, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
Know you the cloak that wrapt your bade. 

If you the same should see. 200 

And pulling forth the cloth of gold, 

In which himself was found ; 
The lady gave a sudden shriek 

And minted on the ground. 

But by his pious care reviv'd, S05 

His tale she beard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found, 

He was indeed her son. 

But who's this hairy youth? she said * 

He much resembles thee : S10 

The bear devoured my younger son. 
Or sure that son were he* 



168 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



=P 



Madam, this youth with bears was bred. 
And rearM within their den. 

But recollect ye any mark 
To know your son agen ? 

Upon his little side, ouoth she. 

Was stampt a bloody rose. 
Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon nis body grows ! 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brothers court 
Her joyful course she steers. 



115 



$20 



What pen can paint King Pepin's joy. 

His sister thus restor'd ! 
And soon a messenger was sent 

To chear her dropping lord : 

Who came in haste with all his . 

To fetch her home to Greece ;* 
Where many happy years they reign 'd 

In perfect love and peace. 

To tbem Sir Ursine did succeed, 

^ And lon£ the scepter bare. 
Sir Valentine he stay VI in France, 

And was his uncle's heir. 



230 



*35 



• • 



XIII. 
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



This humorous song (as a former Editor* has 
well observed) is to ola metrical romances and 
ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose 
narratives of that kind : — a lively satire on their 
extravagant fictions. But although the satire is 
thus general, the subject of this ballad is local and 
peculiar; so that many of the finest strokes of 
humour are lost for want of our knowing the 
minute circumstances to which they allude. Many 
of them can hardly now be recovered, although we 
have been fortunate enough to learn die general 
subject to which the satire referred, and shall detail 
the information with which we have been favoured, 
in a seperate memoir at the end of the poem. 

In handling his subject, the Author has brought 
in most of the common incidents which occur in 

Romance. The description of the dragon t his 

outrages the people flying to the knight for 

succour his care in choosing his armour his 

being drest for fight by a young damsel— and 
most of the circumstances of the battle and victory 
(allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are 
what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in 
prose or verse. 

If any one piece, more than other, is more par- 
ticularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhyming 
legend of Sir Bevis. There a Dragon is attacked 
From a well in a manner not very remote from this 
of the ballad : 

There was a well, so have I wynne, 
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 

• * • 

Than was he glad without fayle, 
And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 
And dranke of that water his fyll ; 
And than he lepte out, with good wyll, 
And with Morglay his brande 
He assayled the dragon, I understand^ : 
On the dragon he smote so faste* 
Where that he hit the scales braste : 
The dragon then faynted sore, 
And cast a galon and more 



t oee above, p. **l, and p. 849. 



Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 
And on Syr Bevis he it flong : 
It was venymous y-wis. 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Want- 
ley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic knight *s creeping 
out, and attacking the dragon, &c seems evidently 
to allude to the following : 

Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth rode, 

And lepte out with haste full good ; 

And Bevis unto the dragon gone is ; 

And the dragon also to Bevis. 

Longe and liarde was that fyght 

Betwene the dragon and that knyght 

But ever whan Syr Bevis was hurt sore. 

He went to the well, and washed him tbore ; 

He was as hole as any man, 

Ever freshe as whan be began. 

The dragon sawe it might not avayle 

Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 

He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 

Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 

He woulde nave flowen then awaye, 

But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 

And hyt him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, &c. 

Sign. M.jv. L.j. &tc. 

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was 
acquainted with the above incidents only through 
the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of 
them in his " Faery Queen." At least some particu- 
lars in the description of tho Dragon, ore seem 
evidently borrowed from the latter. See Book I. 
Canto 11, where the Dragon's " two wynges like 

M y la huge long tayl with svings fai* 

cruel rending clawes and yron teeth hi> 

breath of smothering smoke and sulphur" and 

the duration of the fight for upwards of two day? 
bear a great resemblance to passages in the followii.-. 
ballad ; though it must be confessed that these par 
ticulars are common to all old writers of romance. 

Although this ballad must have been written earl* 
in the last century, we have met with none bu 
such as were comparatively modern copies, it > 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



*69 



here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys 
Collection, collated with such others as could be 
procured. 

Old stories tell, how Hercules 

A dragon slew st Lerna, 
With seven beads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discerne-a : 
But he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5 

Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, 
He slew the dragon of Wantley. 



This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 
With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, 
Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in his jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 
Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly 7 
This dragon was not quite so big, 
But very near, I'll tell ye. 
Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple ; 
And at one sup he eat them up, 
As one would eat an apple. 



10 



15 



SO 



15 



All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat 

Some sav he ate up trees, 
And that tne forests sure he would 

Devour up by degrees : [turkies ; 

For houses and churches were to him geese and 

He ate all, and left none behind, SO 

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, 

Which on the hills you will find. 

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham, 

'J he place I know it well ; 
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 35 

1 vow I cannot tell ; 
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, 

And Matthew's house hard by it ; 
O there and then was this dragon's den, 
You could not chuse but spy it. 40 

Some say, this dragon was a witch ; 

Some say, he was a devil, 
For from his nose a smoke arose, 
And with it burning snivel ; 
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by ; 
Which made it look just like a brook 
Running with burning brandy. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring, 50 

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, 
cuff and huff. 
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing : 
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain 

He swung a horse till he was dead ; 
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55 
Eat him all- up but his head. 



Ver. S9. were to him gone and birches. Other copies* 



These children, as I told, being eat ; 

Men, women, girls, and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging. 

And made a hideous noise : SO 

O save us all, More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; [on, 

Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag 
We '11 give thee all our goods. 

Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want ; 65 

But I want, I want, in sooth, 
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen, 
With smiles about the mouth ; 
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow, 

With blushes her cheeks adorning ; 70 

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, 
And to dress me in the morning. 



75 



This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went, new armour to 
Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spilces all about, not within but without, 

Of steel so sharp and strong ; 
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, 
Some five or six inches long 80 



Had you but seen him in this dress, 
How fierce he look'd and bow big, 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian porcupig : 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 

Each cow, each horse, and each boa; : 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog. 



85 



To see this fight, all people then 

Got up on trees and houses, 
On churches some, and chimneys too ; 
But these put on their trowses, 
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 

To make him strong and mighty, 
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 
And a quart of aqua-vita?. 



9C 



95 



It is not strength that always wins. 

For wit doth strength excell ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well ; 100 

Where he did think, this dragon would drink, 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh ! 
And hit him in the mouth. 



Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, 

Thou disturb'st me in my drink : 
And then he turn'd, and s ... at him; 
Good lack how he did stink - 
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, 

Thy dung smells not like balsam ; 
Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 
Sure thy diet is unwholesome. 



106 



ltO 



Our politick knight, on the other side, 

Crept out upon the brink, 
And gave the dragon such a douse, 

Hb knew not what to think: 



115 



I - 



J 



*70 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



By cpck, quoth he, say you so, do you see t 

And then at him he let fly 
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't ; 

And the word it was. Hey boys, hey I 1 20 

Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand; 

Then to it they fell at all, 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may 
Compare great things with small. 
Two days and anight, with this dragon did fight 195 
Our champion on the ground ; [neat, 

Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake. 

The dragon gave him a knock, ISO 

Which made him to reel, and strait way he thought, 
To lift him as high as a rock, 
And thence let him fall. But More of More-hall, 

Like a reliant son of Mars, 
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 1S5 
And hit him a kick on the a . . • 

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 

And turn'd six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 
Out of his throat of leather ; 
More of More-hall ! O thou rascal ! 140 

Would I bad seen thee never ; [gut* 

With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick 'd my a . . . 
And I'm quite undone for ever. 

Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145 

Alack, alack, for grief ; 
Had you but mist that place, you could 
Have done me no mischief. 
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, 

And down he laid and cry'd ; 150 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd. 

* # * A description of the supposed scene of the 
foregoing Ballad, which was communicated to the 
Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the 
relater : 

" In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a vil- 
lage, called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley 
Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is 
a Lodge, named Warncliff Lodge, but vulgarly 
called Wantley : here lies the scene of the Song. I 
was there above forty years ago: and it being a 
woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over 
rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I 
came to a sort of a cave ; then asked my opinion of 
the place and pointing to one end, aays, Here lay 
the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-hall : here lay 
his head ; here lay his tail ; and the stones we came 
over on the hill, are those he could not crack ; and 
yon white bouse you see half a mile off, is Moor- 
nall. I bad dined at the lodge, and knew the man's 
name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. 
Wortley, and, as be endeavoured to persuade me, 
was the same Matthew mentioned in the Song : in 
the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of 
Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the 
described in the ball 

♦It Since the former editions of this humorous 
old song were printed, the following " Key to the 



Satire" hath been communicated by Godfrey Bos- 
ville, Esq. of Thorp, near Mai ton, in Yorkshire . 
who, in tne most obliging manner, gave full permis- 
sion to subjoin it to the poem. 

Warncliffe Lodge, and Warncliffe Wood {vulgarly 
pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Pennis- 
ton, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was 
part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, 
Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of 
Norfolk's family : who therewith endowed an hos- 
pital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The 
trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of 
Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great 
deal by it, and wanted to get still more : for Mr. 
Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in 
kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and 
there was a decree in favour of the modus in 57 th 
Elis. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along 
with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and 
was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bos- 
ville, Esq. from Queen Elisabeth, in the Sd year of 
her reign : and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his 
elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who 
left it, with the rest or his estate, to his wife, for her 
life it, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. 
The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived 
eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the 
lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes 
made by the Wortley family. " Houses and 
churches were to him geese and turkeys :" which 
are titheahle things, the Dragon chose to live on. 
Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted 
again to take the tithes in kind : but the parishioners 
subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. 
And at the bead of the agreement was Lyonel Row- 
lestone, who is supposed to be one of " the Stones, 
dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack. The 
agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of 
parchment, dated 1st of James I. and is full of names 
and seals, which might be meant by the coat of 
armour, " with spikes all about, both within and 
without." More of More-hall was either the attorney, 
or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not 
distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant 
at the very bottom of Wantlev [Warncliff J Wood, 
and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well: 
as the Dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the 
top of the wood, " with Matthew's house hard by 
it. The keepers belonging to the Wortley family 
were named, for many generations, Matthew 
Northall : the last of them left this lodge, within 
memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The 
present owner of More-ball still attends Mr. Bos- 
ville 's Manor Court at Ox-spring, and pays a rose a 
year. " More of More-hall, with nothing at all, 
slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, in- 
stead of tithes, so small a modus, that it was in effect 
nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. 
" The poor children three/' &c. cannot surely mean 
the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would 
have been coheiresses, bad he made no will 1 The 
late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants 
of two. of them, the late Sir Geo. Seville's father, 
and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, 
they supposing Francis had not the power to give 
this part of the estate from the heirs at law ; but it 
was decided against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis 
Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordes- 
worth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it yj the 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



27i 



copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) baring 
persuaded him not to join the refractory parish- 
ioners, under a promise that he would let him his 
tithes cheap : and now the estatea of Wortley and 



Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes in 
the parish. 

N.B. The " two days and a night/' mentioned in 
ver. If 5, as the duration of the combat, was proba- 
bly that of the trial at law. 



XIV. 
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, 

TUB FIRST PAST. 



ss tUe former song; is in ridicule of the extrava- 
gant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances ; 
so this is a burlesque of their style ; particularly of 
the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of 
unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy 
in the Pepys collection, " imprinted at London, 
161*2." It is more ancient than many of the pre- 
ceding ; but we place it here for the sake of connect- 
ing it with the Second Part. 

Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, 
Knowing 'well' bow many men have endured 

figbtes? 
For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du lake, 
Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies 

sake ; 

Read in old histories, and there you shall see [flee. 

How St George, St George the dragon made to 

St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Hotii toit qui mal y pente. [France ; 

Mark our rather Abraham, when first he resckued 

Lot [got: 

Onely with his household, what conquest there he 
David was elected a prophet and a king, [sling : 
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a 
Yet these were not knightes of the table round ; 
Nor St George, St George, who the dragon did 

confound. 
St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

France; 

Sing, Honi toit out mal y pente. 

Jephtbah and Gideon did lead their men to fight, 
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all 

to flight ; 
Hercules his labours ' were' on the plaines of Basse; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone 

of an asse, [mighty spoyle : 

And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a 
But St George, St George he did the dragon 

foyle. [France; 

St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi toit qui mal y pent*. 

The warres of ancient monarebs it were too long 
to tell, [excell ; 

And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did 
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte : 
Orlando Fuiioso he was a worthy knigbte : 



Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did 
builde : [vielde. 

But St George, St George the dragon made to 
St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 
France; 
Sing, Honi toit qui mal y pente. 

The noble Alphonso, tbat was the Spanish king, 
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in 

did bring* : [he did begin, 

He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first 
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that 

conquest they might win ; 
The ranks of the Pagans be often put to flight : 
But St George, St George did with the dragon 

fight [France; 

St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi toit qui mat y pente. 

Many ' knights' have fought with proud Tamber- 

lame : 
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine : 
Rowland of Beame, and good * Sir' Olivere 
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and beare : 
Besides that noble Hollander, ' Sir' Goward with 

the bill : [spill. 

But St George, St George the dragon's blood did 

St George he wss for England ; St Dennis was lor 

France; 

Sing, Honi toit qui mal y penes. 

Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's blood : 
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and 

good : [niaiiie : 

The four sons of Aymon, that follow *d Charle* 
Sir Hugbon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine: 
These were all French knights that lived in that 

age: 
But St George, St George the dragon did assuaga 
St George he was for England ; St Dennis was 2br 

France ; 

Sing, Honi toit qui mal y pente, 

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the 
boare, [the moore : 

And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with 

Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes 
most bold ; [hath told : 

And good Sir John Msndeville of travel much 

• Thfa probably allndei to " An Ancient Order of Knight 
hood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Al- 
pfaonras, King of Spain,.... to wear a red riband of three 
ftpgen breadth," dec. See Amea, Typog. p. 827 



trt 



FT. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



There were many English knights that Pagans did 
convert : [heart. 

But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's 

St George be was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi toit qui tnal y perue. [France ; 

The noble Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir 

The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ; [Guy, 

He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the 

death [more heath ; 

Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns- 

Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas : 

But St George, St George the dragon did appease. 

St George he was fox England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi toit qui mat y pent*. [Fi 



Henry the fifth he conquered all France, 

And quartered their arms, his honour to advance 

He their cities razed, and threw their castle* 

downe, 
And his head he honoured with a double crowne . 
He thumped the French-men, end afar home bt 

came , 
But St George, St George he did the dragon tame. 
St George he was for England : St. Dennis was It* 

France; 

Sing, Honi Kit qui mat y ptnte. 



'i 



Richard Carur-de-lion, erst king of this land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand*: 
* The false Duke of Austria nothing did be feare ; 
But his son be killed with a boxe on the eare ; 
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lands : 
But St George, St George the dragon did with- 
stands. [France ; 
St. George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 
Sing, Horn toit qui tnol y pout. 



St David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance . 
St Jaqnes of Spaine, that never yet broke lance : 
St Patricke of Ireland, which was St Georges boy, 
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him 

away: 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remains : 
But St George, St George the dragon he hath 

slaine. 
St George he was for England ; St Dennis was lor 

France ; 

Sing, Honi toit qui mol y pent*. 



ii 



xv. 

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, 



THE SECOND PAST, 



— was written by John Grubb, M . A. of Christ 
Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed 
is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen 
of the university had formed themselves into a Club, 
all the members of which were to be of the name of 
George ; their anniversary feast was to be held on 
St George's day. Our Author solicited strongly to 
be admitted ; but his name being unfortunately John , 
this disqualification was dispensed with only upon 
this condition, that he would compose a song in 
honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year 
produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on 
their annual festival. This gave birth to the follow- 
ing humorous performance, the several stanzas of 
which were the produce of many successive anniver- 
sariest. 

This diverting poem was long handed about in 
manuscript ; at length a friend of Grubb's under- 
took to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with 
the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the 
following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such 
a collection as this, may not improperly accompany 
the poem itsel£ 

ExFOSTULATXVNCULA, S1V6 QtfERIMONIUNCULA td 



• Alluding to the CibtuoM exploits attributed to this king 
in the old romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to the 
Third Series. 

f To this circumstance it Is owing that tha Editor has 
never met with two copies In which the stansas are arranged 
alike : he has therefore thrown them into what appeared the 
most natural order. The verses are properly long Alexan- 
drines, bat the narrowness of the page made It necessary to 
snbdivide tb . they are here printed with many improve- | 
menu. 



Antqniun [Athebton] ob Poema Jorannb Grub 
Viri rov otayv ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum edit 

Toni ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi 
Intomb*d in secret thus still to remain any longer, 
Tovvofxa ffov shall last, Q rpv€€c Siapirtpic tut, 
Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dam nobilis ale-a 
Efficit heroes, dignamque heroe puellam. 
Est genus beroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a 
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 
Quern vocitant Homines, Brandy, Superi Cherry- 
brandy, 
Ssepe ills long-cut, vol small-cut flare Tobacco 
Sunt solid pipos. Ast si generosior herba 
(Per varios casus, per tot descrimina rerum) 
Mundungus desit, turn non runcare recusant 
Brown-paper tosta, vel ouod fit arnndine bed-mat. 
Hie labor, hoc opus est neroum ascedere sedesj ! 
Ast ego quo rapiar ? quo me feret entheus ardor, 
Grubbe tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema, 
Qua) moral qua) ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus 

anser 
Virgilii, Flaccique simul eanat inter olores 1 

At length the importunity of his friends prevailed 
and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford 
under the following title : 

Thb British Heroes. 

A New Poem in honour of .St. George) 

By Mr. John Grubs 

School-master of Christ-Church 

Ojon. 1688. 

FaveU Unguit : comma non print 

Audita, wiutarum tacerdot 

Hon. 
Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 



-*«— 



ST. GEORGE FOB ENGLAND. 



3f 



*73 



10 



15 



20 



30 



Tub story of King Arthur old 

Is very memorable, 
The number of his valiant knights, 

And roundness of his table : 
The knights around his table in 

A circle sate, d'ye see : 
And altogether made up one 

Large hoop of chivalry v 
Ho had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-cleped Caliburn, 
Would cut a flint more easily 

Than pen-knife cuts a corn ; 
As case-knife does a capon carve. 

So would it carve a rock, 
And split a man at single slash. 

From noddle down to nock. 
As Roman Augur's steel of yore 

Dissected Tarquin's riddle, 
So this would cut both conjurer 

And whetstone thro' the middle. 
He was the cream of Brecknock, 

And flower of all the Welsh : 
But George he did the dragon fell, 

And gave him a plaguy squelsh. [France ; 

gt George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

8ing, Honi soit qui mal y pen*. 36 

Pendragon, like his father Jove, 

Was fed with milk of goat ; 
And like him made a noble shield 

Of she-goat's shaggy coat : 
On top of burnisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks ; 
And onions* heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot, 

And very prone to ire ; 
H* was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 

And would as soon take fire, 
As brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 
His postern puff of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 
The Briton never tergiversM, 

But was for adverse drubbing, 
Bnd never turn'd his back to aught, 

But to a post for scrubbing. 
His sword would serve for battle, or 

For dinner, if you please ; 
When it ljad slain a Cheshire man, 

T would toast a Cheshire cheese. 
He wounded, and, in their own blood, 

Did anabaptise Pagans : 
But George ne made the dragon an 

Example to all dragons. [France; 

St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi wit qui mat y pome. 56* 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 

Challenged a gyant savsge : 
And streight came out the unwieldy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage : 60 

He had a phiz of latitude. 

And was fuU thick i' th' middle ; 
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter, 

And paunch of squire Beadle*. 



• Men of balk answerable to their placet, at is well known 
it Oxford. 



35 



40 



45 



50 



But the knight fell'd him like an oaky 65 

And did upon his back tread ; 
The valiant knight his wesson cut, 

And Atropos his packthread. 
Besides he tough t with a dun cow, 

As say the poets witty, 70 

A dreadful dun, and horned too, 

Like dun of Oxford city : ' 

The fervent dog-days made her mad, 

By causing heat of weather, 
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 

As bull-dogs did her rather : 
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast 

E'er of her frolick hindred ; 
John Dosset* she'd knock down as flat. 

As John knocks down her kindred : 80 

Her heels would lay ye all along, 

And kick into a swoon ; 
Frewin's f cow-heels keep up your corpse, 

But hers would beat you down. 
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 

And proud was of the honour ; 
Was pufft by mauling butchers so, 

As if themselves had blown her. 
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, 

But all that would not fright him ; 90 

Who wav*d his winyard o'er sir-loyn, 

As if he'd gone to knight him. 
He let her blood, frenzy to cure, 

And eke he did her gall rip ; 
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95 

Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib : 
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib, 

Instead of arch triumphal : 
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt, 

As made him on his bum fall. 100 

St George be was for England ; St Dennis was for 
France; 

Sing, Honi toit qui mal y pente. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow. 

The Turkish squadrons slew ; ' 
And fetch 'd the pagan crescent down, 10? 

With half-moon made of yew : 
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-<»trings, without strangling, sent 

Grand- Visiers to old Nick : 110 

Much turbants, and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust ; 
And head* of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post : 
He coop'd in cage Bajaset the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion, 
As if 't had been the whispering bird, 

That prompted him, the pigeon. 
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he 

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : ISO 

But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, 

And cut off every inch on't 
St George be was for England ; St Dennis was for 
France ; 

Sing, Honi toit qui mal y pent*. 



The amazon Thalestris was 
Both beautiful and bold ; 



125 



• A batcher that then served the college. 
t A cook, who on fast night* wea famous f j*eeQiag cow- 
heel and tripe. 

r 



_. 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



156 



140 



145 



[France; 



She sear'd her breasts with iron hot, 

And bang'd her foes with cold, 
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith 

Jove keeps proud mortals under : 150 

It shone just like his lightning, 

And batter'd like his thunder. 
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast 

The proudest ne that swagger'd 
And melt the rapier of his soul, 

In its corporeal scabbard. 
Her beauty, and her drum to foes 

Did cause amazement double ; 
As timorous larks amazed are 

With light, and with a low-bell : 
With beauty, and that lapland-charm*. 

Poor men she did bewitch all ; 
Still a blind whining lover had, 

As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
She kept the chastness of a nun 

In armour, as in cloyster : 
But George undid the dragon just 

As you d undo an oister. 
St George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi xntquxmaLy pente. 160 

Stout Hercules was offspring of 

Great Jove and fair Alcmene : 
One part of him celestial was, 

One part of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 165 

Two fiery snakes combin'd, 
And, curling into swaddling cloaths. 

About the infant twin'd ; 
But he put out these dragons' fires, 

And did their hissing stop ; 
As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new-comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame 165 

As Tom Wrenchf does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through ; 

Alpheus was under-groom ; 
The stream, disgust at office mean, 

Ran murmuring thro' the room : 170 

This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired with that long work, 
His rather Neptune's trident took, 

Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. 
This Hercules, as soldier, and 175 

As spinster, could take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin ye flax, 
. And sometimes knock out brains : 
H* was forc'd to spin his miss a shift 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Ompbale whipt him to bis wheel, 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man, or churn, he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 
He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 

Ana milk tiff butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 

And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Tapt a fresh monster once a month. 

As Herveyi doth fresh hogshead. 190 

He gave Anteus such a hug, 

As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 



160 



* The drum. 

t Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford. 

% A aoted drawer at the Mermaid Uvetn In Oxford. 



! 



But George he did the dragon kill, 

As dead as any door-naiL [F 

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for 1 

Sing, Honi toit qui wtal y perm. 196 ) 



The Gemini, sprung from an egg. 

Were put into a cradle : 
Their brains with knocks and botrled-afe. 

Were often-times full addle : SCO 

And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him. 

That hurls the bolt trisnlcate, 
With helmet-shell on tender head, 

Did tustle with red-eyM pole-cat, 
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho* 205 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fsm'd for iron heel ; 

TV other for leaden fist. 
Pollux to shew he was a god. 

When he was in a passion 210 

With fist made noses fall down fist 

By way of adoration : 
This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish 'd noses' ridges : 
He, like a certain lord* was fam'd 215 

For breaking down of bridges. 
Castor the flame of fiery steed, 

With well-spur'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern buckets, quench 

A fire in country town. 230 

His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 

Employ'd their brisk artillery : 
And flew as naturally at rogues. 

As eggs at thief in pillory f. 
Much sweat they spent in furious fight, 

Much blood they did effund : 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound ; 
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust 

To make a heavenly sign ; 
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235 

And then hung up to shine ; 
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks 

The sons of Jove and Tyndar : 
But George he cut the dragon up. 

As he had bin duck or windar. 241* 

St George he was for England ; St. Dennis was fo> 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pen*, [France . 



i 



Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon her shoulder : 
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiff changelings 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbars into hones, 

And mason's into free-stone : 
Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes ; 



2-1 



25< 



* Lord Lovelace brook down the bridges about Oxford, at 
the beginning of the Revolution. See on thia subject a 
ballad In Smith's Poems, p. 102. Lond. 1713. 

t It has been suggested by an Ingenious correspondent 
that this was a popular subject at that time : 
Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden Ruff ere bluster'd so. 

Smith's Pr»ms, p. Ill- 



1 — 

tfl'. UEOHUE JfOK £NOl*AAO. 



ST75 



Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clone fast unto her Munches. 
This shield long Tillage did protect, 255 

And kept the army from town, 
And chsng'd the bullies into rocks, 

That came t' invade Long-Compton*. 
She post-diluvian stores unmans, 

And Pyrrha 'a work unravels , 260 

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 
Red noses she to rubies turns. 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 265 

And gave him a bloody flix. [France ; 

St. George be was for England ; St Dennis was for 
8ing, Hani toit qui mal «/ penes. 

By boar-spear M eleager got 

An everlasting name, 270 

And out of haunch of basted swine, 

He hew'd eternal fame. 
This beast each hero's trousers ript, 

And rudely shew'd his bare-breecb, 
Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275 

Heroic guts and garbadge. 
Legs were secur'd by iron boots 

No more than peas by peascods : 
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, 

Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts. 280 
His tawny hairs erected were 

By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his rising bristles. 
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285/ 

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um : 
It made them vent both their last blood, 

And their last album-grecum. 
But the knight jrorM him with his spear, 

To make of him a tame one, 290 

And arrows thick, instead of cloves, 

He stuck in monster's gammon. 
For monumental pillar, that 

His victory might be known, 
He raie'd up, in cylindric form, 295 

A collar of the brawn. 
He sent bis shade to shades below, 

In Stygian mud to wallow ; 
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon. 

He made the dragon follow. 500 

St George be was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Horn toit qui mal y pout, [France ; 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 505 

The hinnible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet, and shining face 

Had that stout hero's mother ; 
As rapier 's silver 'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 510 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, 

As hawk pursuing sparrow : 
Her's had the metal, his the speed 

Of Braburn'st silver arrow. 



-A 8 ?_??.* cco,,,,f •f K«W*bl Stonea, In Dr. Plott'a Hi* 
of Oxfordshire. 

1 Bradbwn, a gtatlemaa commoner of Lincoln coUece. 
tart a ailver arrow to ba abot for by um arenera of Um 
Mhrtnlly of Oxford. 



L 



Thetis to double pedagogue 515 

Commits her dearest boy ; 
Who bred him from a alender twig 

To be the scourge of Troy ; 
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h ( was 

In Stygian waters steept ; 520 

As bircn is soaked first in piss, 

When boys are to be wbipt 
With akin exceeding hard, be rose 

From lake, so black and muddy. 
As lobsters from the ocean rise, 595 

With shell about their body : 
And, as from lobster's broken claw, 

Pick out the fish you might ; 
So might you from one unsbell'd heel 

Dig pieces of the knight 550 

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns 

And hen-roosts, saya the song ; 
Carried away both corn and egga, 

Like ants from whence they sprung* 
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 555 

And sent him down bere-breech'd 
To pedant Radamantbus, in 

A posture to be switch'd. 
But George he made the dragon look, 

As if he had been bewitch'd. 540 

St George he was for England ; St Dennis was for 

Sing, Hani §oH qui mal y psoas* [France j 

Full fatal to the Romans was 

The Carthaginian Hanni- 
bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 545 

A devilish thump at Canns : 
Moors thick, ss goats on Penmenmure, 

Stood on the Alpes's front : 
Their one-eyed guide*, like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' the hind'ring mount : 550 

Who, baffled by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief ; 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing loots from humid toes 555 

Cast atoms of ill savour 
To blinking Hyatt t, when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour, 
And saws from suffering timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver : 560 

So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight 

Of Affrican carnivor. 
The tawny surface of his phis 

Did serve instead of visaard : 
But George he made the dragon have 565 

A grumbling in his giasard. [France ; 

St Georpe he was for England ; St Dennis was for 
Sing, Honi toit qui mud y pen*. 

The valour of Domitian, 

It must not be forgotten ; 570 

Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, 

Protected veal and mutton. 
A squadron of flies errant, 

Against the foe* appears ; 
With regiments of bussing knights, 575 

And swarms of volunteers : 



• Hannibal had bet one eye. 

t A one-eyed fellow, wbo pretended to make addle*, a 
well as pUy oa taem ; well known at that time In Oxford. 



176 



MARGARET'S GHOST. 



The warlike wssp encourag'd 'em 

With animating ham ; 
And the loud brazen hornet next, 

He was their kettle-drum : 



580 



385 



390 



595 



The Spanish Don Cantharido 

Did him most sorely pester, 
And ntis'd on skin of vent'rou* knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whipt thro' his button-hole, 

As thro key-hole a witch , 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck 

-Drawn out of scabbard breech : 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny. 
And slasht her so, that here lay bead. 

And there lay bag and honey : 
"• Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift. 

As weapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious bus, 

By dint of massy fly -flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe, 

And maggots too at Cesar : 
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard, 

And Askelon * was his razor. 400 

St. George he was for England ; SL Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi toit qui mat y peine. [France ; 

John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing 
song, makes a distinguished figure among the Ox- 
ford wits so humorously enumerated in the follow- 
ing distich ; 

Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina poetas 
Bub, 8tubb. Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, 
Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

rhese were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Mel- 
combe,) Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, 
Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young, 
the author of NighuThoughta, Walter Carey, 



I. 



;i 



Thomas Tickel, Esq. and Dr. Evans the epigram- '' 
matist. 

As for our poet Grubb, all that we can Jearn for- 
tber of him, is contained in a lew extracts from the 
University Register, and from his epitaph. It ap- 
pears from the former that he was matriculated in 
1667, being the son of John Grubb, "de Acton 
Burnel in comitatu Salop, pauperis." He took his 
degree of Bachelor of Arts, Jun«»98 t 1671: and 
became Master of Arts, June t8, 1675. He was 
appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at 
Christ Church ; and afterwards chosen into the 
same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 
1697, as appears from his monument in the church , i 
of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in- '| 
scribed with the following epitaph : ' , 

H.S.E. 

Johannes Grubb, A.M. 

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopians! 

Anno Dom. 1645. 

Cujus variam in Unguis notitiam, 

et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, 

grata adhuc memoria testatur Oxonium. 

Ibi enim iEdi Christi initiatus, 

sites excoluit : 

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendaa 

accurate forma vit : 

Hue demum 

nnanimi omnium consensu accitus, 

» eandem suscepit * provinciam, 

quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 

Ut nihil optandum sit 

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset t 

Fuit enim 
propter festivam ingenii suavitatem, 
snnplioem morum candorem, et 
precipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam 

omnibus desideratissimus, 
Obiit 2do die April is, Anno D'ni, 1697, 
^Etatis 6USE 51. 



XVI. 
MARGARETS GHOST. 



This ballad, which appeared in some of the public 
newspapers in or before the year 17*4, came from 
the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of 
his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was 
suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 
£25, which ne supposed to be tne beginning of some 
ballad now lost 

" These lines, says he, naked of ornament and 
simple as they are, struck my fancy ; and bringing 
fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much 
talked of formerly, gave birth to the following 
poem, which was written many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two 
others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad 
simplicity, vis. 

" When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep," &c 

• The nine of St. fteofte't iword. 



» 

9 was at the silent solemn hour, 
When night and morning meet ; 

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn, 

Clad in a wintry cloud : 
And clay-cold was her lily hand, 

That held her sable shrowd. 

So shall the fairest face appear. 
When youth and years are flown : 

8uch is tne robe that kings must 
When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 

Just open in e to the view. 



10 



10 



-*»- 



**** 






LUCY AMj COLIN. 



tTT » 



Bat lore had, like the canker-worm, 

Consum'd her early prime : 
The rose grew pale/ and left her cheek ; 

She dy'd before her time. 

" Awake ! * she cry'd, «• thy true lore calls, 
Come from her midnight grave ; 

Now let thy pity hear the maid 
Thy love refund to save. 

" This is the dark and dreary hour 
When injur'd ghosts complain ; 

Now yawning graves give up their dead, 
To haunt the faithless swam. 

" Bethink thee, William, of thy mult, 

Thy pledge and broken oath : 
And give me back my maiden vow. 

And give me back my troth. 

" Why did you promise love to me. 

And not that promise keep? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 

Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 

" How could you say my face was fair, 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break t 

u Why did you say my lip was sweet. 

And made the scarlet pale t 
And. why did I, young witless maid 

Believe the flattering tale 1 

" That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 

These lips no longer red : 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in'deatli, 

And every charm is fled. 



20 



S5 



30 



35 



40 



45 



'* The hungry worm my sister If ; 

This winding-sheet I wear : 
And cold and weary lasts our night, 

Till that last morn appear. 

"But hark! the cock has warn'd me henoe ! 

A long and last adieu f 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 

Who died for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning snuTd 

With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb, 

And raving left his bed. 



50 



55 



60 



He hyed him to the fatal place 
Where Margaret's body lay : 

And stretch 'd him on the grass-green 
That wrapt her breathless clay : 



turf, 



65 



And thrice he calVd on Margaret's name. 

And thrice he wept full sore : 
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 

And word spake never more; 

%• In a late publication, intitled "The Friends, 
&c" Lond. 1773, t vols. l?mo, (in the 6rst volume) 
as inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very 
great variations, which the Editor of that work con- 
tends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted it 
for his own, and altered it, as here given. — But the 
superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy 
gives it so much more the air of an original, that it 
will rather be believed that some transcriber altered 
it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own 
taste ; than which nothing is more common in popu- 
lar songs and ballad* 



xvir. 

LUCY AND COLIN. 



— — was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the cele- 
brated friend of Mr. Addison, and Editor of his 
works. He was the son of a Clergyman in the North 
of England ; had his education at Queen's College, 
Oxon ; was Under-Secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. 
Craggs, when successively secretaries of state ; and 
was lastly (in June 1724) appointed secretary to 
the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held 
till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's 
patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosa- 
mond, written while he was at the University. 

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was 
written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, 
at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly — probably 
on some event recent in that neighbourhood. 

Op Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 

Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
Nor e'er did LifFy's limpid stream 

Reflect so fair a face. 

Till luckless lore and pining care * 5 

- Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lip, and damask cheek, 
And eyes of glossy blue. 



Oh 1 hare you seen a lily pale, 
When beating rains descend T 

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid ; 
Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fair : 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 

Ye perjured swains beware. 

Three times, all in the dead of night, 
A bell was heard to ring ; 

And at her window, shrieking thrice. 
The raven flap'd his wing. 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 
That solemn boding sound ; 

And thus in dying words, bespcke 
The virgins weeping round. 

" I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
Which says, I must not stay : 

I see a hand you cannot see, 
Which beckons me away. 



10 



15 



20 



t5 



«?8 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



" By a falee heart, and broken rows, 
• In early youth I die. 
Am I to blame, because hit bride 
la thrice aa rich aa I ? 

" Ah Colin f give not her thy tows ; 

Vows due to me alone: 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 

Nor think him all thy own. 

" To-morrow in the church to wed, 

Impatient, both prepare ; 
Bat know, fond maid, and know, raise 

That Luey will be there. 

'* Then, bear my cone, ye comrades, bear. 
The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 

He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
I in my winding sheet." 



50 



55 



40 



She spoke, she died ;— her corse was borne, 
The bridegroom blithe to meet} 

He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
She in her wmding-sheet. 

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts? 
How were those nuptials kept 1 



45 



50 



The bride-men nook'd round Lacy 
And all the Tillage wept. 



Confusion, shame, .*_,».», 

At once his bosom swell : 
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 53 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 



> i 



From the Tain bride (ah, bride no more !) 

The Tarying crimson fled, 
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 

She saw her husband dead. 50 i: 

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 

Convey'd by trembling swains, 
One mould with her beneath one sod, 

For erer now remains. 

Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 

And plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay, and true-lore knots. 

They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 

This hallow'd spot forbear ; 70 

Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
And fear to meet him there. 



XVIII. 
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE, 



IS BETISin AND ALTERBO BT A MODERN HAND. 



Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on 
Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the 
"Boy and the Mantle " is taken from an old French 
piece entitled " Le Court Mantel," quoted by M. de 
Sl Palaye, in his curious "Memoires sur'l'ancienne 
Chevalerie," Paris, 1759, * torn. ISmo ; who tells 
us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted 
cup. Tis possible our English poet msy have taken 
the hint of this subject from that old French romance ; 
but he does not appear to have copied it in the man- 
ner of execution : to which (if one may judge from 
the specimen given in the Memoires; that of the 
Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 
'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning 
King Arthur are originally of British growth, and 
that what the French ana other Southern nations 
have of this kind were at first exported from this 
island. See Memoires de l'Acad. des. Inscrip. torn. 
xx. p. 35*. 

In the " Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 torn, ltmo, 
of M. Le Grand (torn. I. p. 54), is printed a modern 
Version of the Old Tale Le Court Mantel, under a 
new title, Le Manteau maltaUM, which contains the 
story of this Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards 
the Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife or 
the Horn. 

In Carlefle dwelt King Arthur, 

A prince of passing might ; 
And there maintain'd his table round, 

Beset with many a knight 



And there he kept his Christmas 
With mirth and princely cheare, 

When, lo ! a straunge ana cunning boy 
Before him did appeere. 

A kirtle and a mantle 

This boy had him upon, 
With brooches, rings, and owches, 

Full daintily bedona. 

Hehadasarkeofailk 

About his middle meet; 
And thus, with seemely curtesy, 

He did King Arthur greet. 

" God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 
Thua feasting in thy bowre ; 

And Guenever thy goodly queen, 
That fair and peexiesse nowre. 



" Ye gallant lords, and lording*, 
I wish you all take heed, 

Lest, what you deem a blooming i 
Should prove a cankred weed. 

Then straitway from his bosome 

A little wand he drew ; 
And with it eke a mantle 

Of wondrous shape and hew. 



10 



IS 



SO 



S5 



■*— I 



THK BOV AND THE MANTLE. 



" Now have tbou here, King Arthur, 

Have this here of mee, 
And give unto thy comely queen, 

All-shapen as you see. 

" No wife it shall become, 

That once hath been to blame.'' 

Tben every knight in Arthur's court 
Slye glaunced at bis dame. 

And first came Lady Guenever, 

The mantle she must trye, 
This dame, she was new-fangled, 

And of a roving eye. 

When she had tane the mantle. 

And all was with it cladde, 
From top to toe it shivered down, 

As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 

Another while too short, 
And wrinkled on her shoulders 

In most unseemly sort, 

Now green, now red it seemed, 

Then all of sable hue. 
"?Beshrew me quoth King Arthur, 

I think thou beest not true." 

Down she threw the mantle, 

Ne longer would not stay ; 
But storming like a fury, 

To her chamber flung away. 

She curst the whoreson weaver, 
That had the mantle wrought : 

And doubly curst the froward impe, 
Who thither had it brought 

" I had rather live in deserts 
Beneath the green-wood tree : 

Than here, base king, among thy groomes, 
The sport of them and thee/' 



30 



95 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



»» 



Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 
And bade her to come near : 

" Yet dame if thou be guilty, 
I pray thee now forbear. 

This 'lady, pertly gigling, 

With forward step came on, 
And boldly to the little boy 
. With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 
With purpose for to wear : 

It shrunk up to her shoulder, 
And left her b**side bare. 

Then every merry knight, 
That was in Arthurs court, 

Gib'd and laught, and flouted, 
To see that pleasant sport. 

Downe she threw the mantle. 
No longer bold or say, 

Bat with a face all pale and wan. 
To her chamber slunk away. 



65 



70 



75 



80 



Then forth came an old knight, 
A pattering o'er his ereed ; 

And proffered to the little boy 
Five nobles to his meed j 

" And all the time of Christmass 
Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 

If thou wilt let my lady fair 
Within the mantle shine." 

A saint his lady seemed, 
With step demure and slow, 

And gravely to the mantle 
With mincing pace doth goe. 

When she the same bad taken. 

That was so fine and thin 
It shriveird all about her, 

And show'd her dainty skin 

Ah ! little did her mincing, 
Or bis long prayers bestead ; 

She had no more hung on her. 
Than a tassel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 

With terror and dismay, 
And, with a face of scarlet, 

To her chamber hyed away. 

Sir Cradock call'd bis lady, 
And bade her to come neare , 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 
And do me credit here. 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

For now it shall be thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 

Sith first I made thee mine." 

The lady gently blushing, 
With modest grace came on, 

And now to trye the wondrous charm 
Courageously is gone. 

When she bad tane the mantle. 

And put it on her backe, 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 



J79 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



110 



115 



120 



« 



Lye still," shee cryed, " O mantle ! 
And shame me not for nought, 
111 freely own whate'er amiss, 
Or blameful I bare wrought. 

" Once I kist Sir Cradocke 
Beneathe the green wood tree : 

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 
Before he married mee." 

When thus sbe had her shriven, 
And her worst fault had told, 

The mantle soon became her 
Right comely as it ahold. 

Most rich and fair of colour, 
Like gold it glittering shone . 

And much the knights in Arthur's court 
Admir'd her every one. 



125 



130 



155 



140 



r 



^»w> 



«ao 



THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OK THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



! 



Then towards King Arthur's table 

The boy he tura'd his eve : 
Where stood a boar's head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 

When thrice he o'er the boar's bead 

His little wand had drawne, 
Quoth be, " There's never a cuckold's knife 

Can carve this head of brawne." 

Then some their whittles rubbed 

On whetstone, and on hone : 
Some threwe them under the table, 

And swore that they had none. 

Sir Cradock had a little knife, 

Of steel and iron m%de ; 
And in an instant thro' the skull 

He thrust the shining blade 

He thrust the shining blade 

Full easily and fast ; 
And every knight in Arthurs court 

A morsel had to taste, 

fne boy brought forth a home, 

All golden was the rim : 
Said he, " No cuckolde ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

" No cuckold can this little borne 

Lift fairly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that aide, 

He shall the liquor shed.' 



14a 



150 



155 



160 



165 



t» 



Some shed it on their shoulder, 
Some shed it on their thigh ; 

And hee that could not hit his mouth, 
Was sure to hit his eye. 

Thus he, that was a cuckold, 
Was known of every man : 

But Cradock lifted easily, 
And wan the golden can. 

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, 
Were this fair couple's meed : 

And all such constant lovers, 
God send them well to speed. 

Then down in rage came Guenever, 
And thus could spightful say, 

" Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 
Hath borne the prise away. 



170 



175 



180 



XIX. 
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE, 



The Second Poem in the third Series, intitled " The 
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, having been offered to the 
Reader with large conjectural Supplements and Cor- 
rections, the old Fragment itself is here literally, 
and exactly printed from the Editor's folio MS. 



with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata ; that 
such austere Antiquaries as complain that the ancient 
copies have not been always rigidly adhered to may 
see how unfit for publication many of the pieces 
would have been if ail the blunders, corruptions, and 



" See yonder shameless woman, 1Bb 

That makes berselfe so dean : 
Yet from her pillow taken 

Thrice five gallants have been* 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, 

Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet she the wondcrous prise forsooth 

Must beare from all the rest" 



Then bespake the little boy, 

Who had the same in hold : 
" Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, 19.? 

Of speech she is too bold : 



" Of speech she is too bold, 

Of carriage all too free ; 
Sir king, she hath within thy hall 

A cuckold made of thee. too 



" All frolick light and wanton 
She hath her carriage borne : 

And given thee for a singly crown 
To wear a cuckold's home." 



• # # The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the Speci- 
mens of Welsh Poetry, 4to, affirmed that the story 
of the " Boy and the Mantle," is taken from what is 
related in some of the old Welsh MSS, of Tegan 
Earfron, one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is 
said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit 
any immodest or incontinent' woman ; this (which 
the old writers say, was reckoned among the curio* 
sides of Britain) is frequently alluded, to by the old 
Welsh Bards. 

Carletlb, so often mentioned in the Ballads of 
King Arthur, the editor once thought might probably 
be a corruption of Caer-t.eon, an ancient British 
nity on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which 
was one of the places of King Arthurs chief residence; 
but he is now convinced that it is no other than 
Carlisle, in Cumberland ; the old English Minstrels, 
being most of them Northern men, naturally repre- 
sented the Hero of Romance as residing in the . 
North : and many of the places mentioned in the I } 
Old Ballads are still to be found there ; as Teame- 
Wadting, &c. 

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, sur- 
rounded by a mound of earth, which retains the 
name of Arthur's Round Table. 



1 



THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAV\An\K. 



ttjl 



nonsense of illiterate Reciters and Transcribers had 
been superstitiously retained, without some attempt 
to correct and amend them. 

This Ballad had most unfortunately suffered by 
having half of every leaf in this part of the MS. torn 
away ; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur 
in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that 
the otber half contained nearly the same number of 
stanzas. 

KrtfGB Arthur Hues in merry Carleile 
and aeemely is to see 
and there he hath wth him Queene Genev* 
y t bride so bright of blee 



And there he hath wth him Queene Generer 

yt bride soe bright in bower 

6c all his barons about him stoode 

yt were both stiffe and stowre 



The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
of mirth fit great honor 
• • when . • 

[About Nine Stantai wanting.] 
And bring me word what thing it is 
ye a woman most desire 
this shalbe thy ransome Arthur he aayes 
for He haue noe other hier 



K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
according thene as was the law 
he tooke his leaue of the baron there 
and homword can he draw 



And when he came to Merry Carlile 

to his chamber he is gone 

And tber came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine 

as he did make his mone 



And there came to him his Cozen 8r Gawaine 9 
yt was a curteous knight 
why sigh yo& soe sore ruckle Arthur he said 
or who hath done the vnright 



O peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine 
yt faire may thee be flail 
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe 
thou wold not meruaile att all 



Ffor when I came to tearne wadling 
a bold barron there I rand 
wth a great club vpon his backe 
standing stiffe Ac strong 



And he asked me wether I wold figrht 
or from him I sbold be gone 
o f else I must him a ransome pay 
& soe dep't him from 



To fight wth him I saw noe cause 
me thought it was not meet 
for he was stiffe & strong wth all 
his strokes were nothing sweets 



Tberfor this is my ransome Gawaine 
I ought to him to pay 
I must come againe as I am sworne 
vpon the Newyeers day 



Sie. 



tSk. 



And I must bring him word what thing it is 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 



Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
towards the foresaid Tearne wadling 
yt he might keepe his day 



And 88 be rode over a more 
bee see a lady where ahee sate 
betwixt an oke and a greene hollen 
she was cladd in red Scarlett 



Then there as ahold have stood her mouth 

then there was sett her eye 

the other was in her forhead mat 

the way that she might see 



Her nose was crooked & turnd outward 
her mouth stood foule awry 
a worse formed lady thee snee was 
neuerman saw wth his eye 



To halch rpon him k. Arthur 
this lady was full faine 
but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson 
what he should say againe 



What knight art thou the lady sayd 
that wilt not speake tome 
of me thou nothing dismayd 
tho I be rgly to see 



for I haue halcbed yoa courteously^ 
& yo<> will not me againe 
yett I may happen &r knight ahee said 
to ease thee of thy peine 



Giue thou ease me lady he said 

or helpe me any thing 

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen 

& marry him wth a ring 



Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur 
of thy owne hearts desiringe 

of gentle Gawaine 

[About Nine SUtruat wanting. j 



And when be came to the tearne wadling 
the baron there cold he arinde * 
wth a great weapon on his backe 
standing stiffe & strongs 



And then he tooke k. Arthurs letters in his hands 
& away he cold them fling 
& then he puld out a good browne sword 
Ac cryd himselfe a k. 



And be sayd I haue thee Ac and thy land Arthur 

to doe as it pleaseth me 

for this is not thy ransome sure 

therfore yeeld thee to me 



And then bespoke him noble Arthur 
Ac bade him hold his hands 
& give me leave to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land 



• Sie If S. 



■ j 



581 THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



the * said as I came over a Mora 
I aee a lady where shee aate 
betweene an oke & a green fallen 
sbee was clad in red scarlette 



And she says a woman will haoe her will 
& this is ail her cbeef desire 
doe me right as thou art a baron of sckiH 
this is thy ransome Ac all thy hyer 



He aayes an early rengeanoe light on her 
she walkes on yonder more 
it was my sister that told thee this 
she is a misshappen hore 



Bat beer He make mine arow to god 
to do her an euifl tome 
for an ener I may thate fowle theefe get 
in a fyer I will her borne 



[About Nine Stanxa$ wanting.] 



THE SSOOND PAST. 



8m Laneelott & &r Steven bold 
they rode w*h them that day 
and the formost of the company 
there rode the steward Kay 



Soe did Sr Banier & Sr Bore 
8r Garrett wth them so gay 
soe did Sr Tristeram yt gentle kt 
to the forrest fresh & gay 



And when he came to the greene forrest 
vnderneath a greene holly tree 
their sate that lady in red scarlet 
yt vnseemly was to see 



Sr Kay beheld this Ladys face 
& looked vppon her sui're 
wbosoener kisses this lady he aayes 
of bis kisse he stands in rears 



Sr Kay beheld the lady againe 
& looked vpon her snoot 
whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies 
of his kisse he stands in doubt 



Peace cos. Kay then said Sr Gawaine 
amend thee of thy life 
for there ia a knight amongst us all 
yt must marry her to his wife 



What wedd her to wiffe then said Sr Kay 

in the diuells name anon 

gett me a wiffe where ere I may 

for I had rather be slaine 



Then soome tooke vp their bawkes in bast 
& some tooke vp their hounds 
& some aware they wold not marry her 
lor Citty nor for towne 



And then be spake him noble k. Arthur 

& sware there by this day 

for a litle foule eight Ac misliking 

[About Nine Stansat wanting."] 



• Sic MS. 

1 ' ■ ' 



Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine 
truth as 1 doe say 

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse 
in the night or else in the day 



And then bespake him Gentle 
wta one aoe mild of moode 
sayes well I know what I wold 
god grant it may be good 



To bane thee fowle in the night 
when I wth thee shold play 
yet I bad rather if I might 
haue thee fowle in the day 



What when Lords goe wth ther soiree' 
both to the Ale and wine 
alas then I must hyde my selfe 
I must not goe withinne 



shee said 



And then bespake him gentle gawaine 
said Lady thata but a skill 
And because thou art my owne lady 
thou shalt haue all thy will 



Then she aaid blesed be thou gentle 
this day yt I thee see 
for as thou see me att this time 
from hencforth I wilbe 



My father was an old knight 
& yett it chanced soe 
that he msrryed a younge lady 
yt brought me to this woe 



Shee witched me being a faire young Lady 
to the greene forrest to dwell 
& there I must walke in womana liknesse 
most like a feeind of hell 



8be witched my brother to a Carliat B . . . . 
[About Nine Stmuae wanting.] 



that looked soe foule & that was wont 
on the wild more to goe 



Come kisse her Brother Kay then said Sr Ge 

& amend the of thy liffe 

I sweare this is the same lady 

yt I marryed to my wiffe. 



Sr Kay kissed that lady bright 
standing vpon his ffeete 
he swore as he was trew knight 
the spies was neuer so sweete 



Well Cos. Gawaine says Sr Kay 
thy chance is fallen arright 
for thou bast gotten one of the fairest 
I euer saw wth my sight 



It is my fortune said Sr Gawaine 
tor my Vnckle Arthurs sake 
I am glad as grasse wold be of rains) 
great Joy that 1 may take 



• 8k in MS. pro^Cra* L ». Main. 



1 



■*■ 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



*8S 



Sr Gawaine tooke the lady by the one 
Sr Kay tooke her by the totber 
they led her straight to k. Arthur 
as they were brother & brother 



K. Arthur welcomed them there all 
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene 
wth all the knights of the round table 
most seemly to be seene 



K. Arthur beheld that lady mire 
that was so mire & bright 



he thanked christ in trinity 

for 8r Gawaine that gentle knight 



Soe did the knights both more and lease 
reioyced all that day 
for the good chance yt hapened was 
to Sr Gawaine & his lady gay. Ffinis 



In the Fao Simile Copies, after all the care which 
has been taken, it is very possible that a redundant 
t, Aco. may have been added or omitted. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



This Ballad, together with that already printed, 
intitled"The Friar of Orders Gray," forming what 
may be considered the whole of Bishop Percy's origi- 
nal compositions, is here appended as a necessary ad- 
dition to the foregoing collection. 

rrr I. 

Dark was the night, and wild the storm, 

And loud the torrent's roar ; 
And loud the sea was heard to dash 

Against the distant shore. 

Musing; on man's weak hapless state. 

The lonely Hermit lay ; 
When, lo ! ne heard a female 



TOice 



Lament in sore dismay. 



With hospitable haste he rose, 

And wak'd his sleeping fire ; 
And snatching up a lighted brard, 

Forth hied the revYend sire. 

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree 

A beauteous maid he found, 
Who beat her breast, and with her tears 

Bedew 'd the mossy ground. 

" O weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Nor let rain fears alarm ; 
My little cell shall shelter thee, 

And keep thee safe from harm." 

" It is not for myself I weep, 

Nor for myself I fear ; 
But for my dear and only friend, 

Who lately left me here : 

** And while some sheltering bower he sought 

Within this lonely wood, 
Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet 

Hare slipt in yonder flood/' , 

" O 1 trust in Heaven," the Hermit said, 

" And to my cell repair ! 
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend. 

And ease thee of thy care.* 



Then climbing up his rocky stairs, 

He scales the cliff so high ; 
And calls aloud, and waves his light 

To guide the stranger's eye. 

Anions? the thickets long he winds, 

With careful steps and slow : 
At length a voice return'd his call, 

Quick answering from below : 

" O tell me, father, tell me true, 

If you have chanc'd to see 
A gentle maid, I lately left 

Beneath some neighbouring tree : 

" But either I have lost the place, 

Or she hath gone astray : 
And much I fear this fatal stream 

Hath snatch'd her hence away." 

" Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said j 

The lady's safe and well :" 
And soon ne join'd the wandering youth, 

And brought him to his cell. 

Then well was seen, these gentle friends, 

They lov'd each other dear : 
The youth he press'd her to his heart j 

The maid lei fell a tear. 



Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, 

Beheld so tweet a pair : 
The youth was tall, with manly bloom ; 

She, slender, soft, and fair. 

The youth was clad in forest green. 

With bue;le-horn so bright : 
She in a ail ken robe and scarf, 

Snatch'd up in hasty flight 

" Sit down, my children," says the sage ; 

" Sweet rest your limbs require •* 
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, 

And mends his little fire. 



' » *m 



"*^* 



184 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH 



Jl 



M Partake" he said, " my simple store. 
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds ;" 

And spreading all upon the board, 
Inntes with kindly words. 

" Thanks, father, for thy bounteous rare ;" 

The youthful couple say : 
Then freely ate, and made good cheer, 

And talk'd their cares away. 

M Now say, my children, (for perchance 

My counsel may avail), 
What strange adventure brought you here 

Witnin this lonely dale 1" 

"First tell me, father," said the youth, 
" (Nor blame mine esger tongue). 

What town is near 1 What lands are these ? 
And to what lord belong V 

" Alas ! my son," the Hermit said, 

" Why do I live to say, 
The rightful lord of these domains 

Is banish'd far away I 

"Ten winters now have shed their snows 

On this my lowly hall, 
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North 

Our youthful lord did call) 

" Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke 

Led up his northern powers, 
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life 

Near proud Salopians towers. 

" One son he left, a lovely boy, 

His country's hope ana heir ; 
And, oh ! to save him from his foes 

It was his grandsire's care. 

"In Scotland safe heplac'd the child 

Beyond the reach of strife, 
Nor long before the brave old Earl 

At Braham lost his life. 



" And now the Percy name, so long 

Our northern pride and boast, 
Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud ; 

Their honours reft and lost. 

' No chieftain of that noble house 

Now leads our youth to arms ; 
The bordering Scots despoil our fields, 

And ravage all our farms. 

" Their halls and castles, once so fair, 

Now moulder in decay ; 
Proud strangers now usurp their lands, 

And bear their wealth away. 

" Nor far from hence, where yon full stream 

Runs winding down the lea, 
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers. 

And overlooks the 



" Those towers, alas ! now lie forlorn, 
With noisome weeds o'er spread, 

Where feasted lords and courtlv dames. 
And where the poor were fed. 



- Meantime far off, 'said Scottish fcfllt, 

The Percy lives unknown : 
On strangers' bounty lie depends. 

And mav not claim his own. 

" O might I with these aged eye* 

But live to see him here, 
Then should my soul depart in bliss !**— 

He said, and dropt a tear. 

" And is the Percy still so lov'd 

Of all bis friends and thee! 
Then, bless me, father," said the youth, 

" For I, thy guest, am he." 



Silent he gax'd, then turn*d 

To wipe the tears be shed ; 
And lifting up his hands and eyes, 

Pour'd blessings on his head : 

" Welcome, our dear and raoch-lov'd lortl, 

Thy country's hope and care : 
But who may this young lady be. 

That is so wondrous fairl" 

M Now, father ! listen to my tale. 
And thou shalt know the truth : 

And let thy sape advice direct 
My inezpenenc'd youth. 

" In Scotland I've been nobly bred 

Benesth the Regent's* hand, 
In feats of arms, and every lore 

To fit me for command. 

" With fond impatience long I bura'd 

My native land to see : 
At length I won my guardian friend 

To yield that boon to me. 

"Then up and sown in hunter's garb 

I wander'd as in chase, 
Till in the noble Neville's* house 

I gain'd a hunter's place. 

" Some time with bim I liv'd unknown, 

Till I'd the hap so rare 
To please this young and gentle dame, 

That Baron's daughter fair.'* 



, »» 



" Now, Percy," said the blushing maid, 

" The truth I must reveal ; 
Souls great and generous, like to thine. 

Their noble deeds conceal. 

" It happen'd on a summer's day, 

Led by the fragant breeze, 
I wander'd forth to take the air 

Among the green-wood trees. 

" Sudden a band of rugged Scots, 

That near in ambush lay, 
Moss-troopers from the border-side. 

There seis'd Jne for their prey. 



• Robert Staart, bake of Albany. See the continuation 
Of Portion's Scoti-Clironicon, cap. IS, cap. 23, See. 

t Ralph Nevilles first Karl of Westmoreland, who chieflt 
resided at his two v eaiftes of Brancepetb, and ILaby, bo»S in 
the Bishoprick of Durham. 






THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



*85 



•• My shrieks had all been spent in rain ; 

But Heaven, that saw my grief, 
Brought this brave youth within my call, 

Who flew to my relief. 

" With nothing but his hunting spear, 

And dagger in his hand, 
He sprung like lightning on my foes, 

And caus'd them soon* to stand. 

" He fought till more assistance came : 

The Scots were overthrown ; 
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands, 

To make me more his own." 

" O bappy day !" the youth replied : 
" Blest were the wounds I bear ! 

From that fond hour she deign*d to smile, 
And listen to my prayer. 

" And when she knew my name and birth. 

She vow'd to be my bride ; 
But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !) 

Her princely mother's pride : 

" Sister of haughty Bolingbroke*, 

Our house's ancient foe, 
To me, I thought, a banish 'd wight. 

Could ne'er such favour shew. 

" Despairing then to gain consent, 

At length to fly with me 
I won this lovely timorous maid; 

To Scotland bound are we. 

" This evening, as the night drew on. 

Fearing we were pursued, 
We turn'd adown the right-hand path, 

And gain'd this lonely wood : 

" Then lighting from our weary steeds 

To shun the pelting shower, 
We met thy kind conducting hand. 

And reach'd this friendly bower." 

" Now rest ye both," the Hermit said ; 

" Awhile your cares forego : 
Nor, Lady, scorn my humble bed : 

—We'll pass the night belowf. ' 



»» 



FIT IX. 

Lovely smil'd the blushing morn, 
And every storm was fled : 

But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, 
Fair Eleanor left her bed. 

She found her Henry all alone, 
And cheer'd him with her sight ; 

The youth consulting with his friend 
iiad watch'd the livelong night. 



•Jo«n, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young 
lady, was daughter of Jobn of Gaunt, and half lister of King 
Henry IV". 

t Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of the 
Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which 
the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment, 
with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in rains ; 
whereas the Chapel, eat in the solid rock, is s. ill very intire 
and perfect. 



What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast ! 

Her cheek what blushes dyed, 
When fondly he besought her there 

To yield to be his bride !— 

" Within this lonely hermitage 

There is a chapel meet : 
Then grant, dear maid, my fond request, 

And make my bliss complete." 

" O Henry, when thou deign'st to sue, 

Can I thy suit withstand ? 
When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heait, 

Can I refuse my hand 1 

" For thee I left a father's smiles, 

And mother's tender care ; 
And whether weal or woe betide, 

Thy lot I mean to share." 

" And wilt thou then, Cf generous maid ! 

Such matchless favour show, 
To share with me, a banish'd wight, 

My peril, pain, or woe 1 

" Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store 

To crown thy constant breast : 
For know, fond hope assures my heart 

That we shall soon be blest 

*' Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle 4 

Surrounded by the sea ; 
There dwells a holy friar, well known 

To all thy friends and thee ; 

" Tis Father Bernard, so rever'd 

For every worthy deed ; 
To Raby Castle he shall go, 

And for us kindly plead. 

*' To fetch this good and holy man 

Our reverend host is gone ; 
And soon, I trust, his pious hands 

Will join us both in one." 

Thus they in sweet and tender talk 

The lingering hours beguile : 
At length they see the hoary sage 

Come from the neighbouring isle. 

With pious joy and wonder mix'd 

He greets the noble pair, 
And glad consents to join their hands 

With many a fervent prayer. 

Then strait to Baby's distant walls 

He kindly wends his way : 
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet 

They spend the livelong day. 

And now, attended by their host, 

The Hermitage they view'd, 
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff, 

And overhung with wood. 



♦In the little island of Coq.net, near Warkworth,are still 
seen the rains of a cell, which belonged to. the Benedictine 
monks of Tinemoath-Abbey. 



mm: 



•mm 



THE HERMIT OF W ARK WORTH. 



And now a flight of shapely step*, 

All out with nicest skill, 
And piercing through a stony arch, 

Baa winding np the hill : 

There deck'd with many a flower and herb 

His little garden stands ; 
With fruitful trees in shady rows. 

All planted by his Vfin^Ti 

Then, seoop'd within the solid rook. 

Three sacred raulta he shows : 
The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd. 

On branching columns rose. 

Each proper ornament was there,' 

That should a chapel grace ; 
The lattice for confession fram'd,' 

And holy-water vase. 

O'er either door a sacred text 

Inrites to godly fear ; 
And in a little scutcheon hang 

The cross, and crown, and spear. 

Up to the altar's ample breadth 

Two easy steps ascend ; 
And near, a glimmering solemn light 

Two well-wrought windows lend. 

Beside the altar rose a tomb 

All in the living stone ; 
On which a young and beauteous maid 

La goodly sculpture shone. 

A kneeling angel, fairly cair'd, * 

Lean'd hovering o'er her breast; 
A weeping warrior at her feet ; 

And near to these her crest*. 

The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb 

Attract the wondering pair : 
Eager they ask, " What hapless dame 

Lies sculptured here so fairl" 

The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept, 

For sorrow scarce could speak : 
At length he wip'd the trickling tears 

That all bedew'd his cheek. 

" Alas ! my children, human life 

Is but a vale of woe ; 
And very mournful is the tale 

Which ye so fain would know !" 

THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend 

In days of youthful fame; 
Yon distant hills were his domains. 

Sir Bertram was his name. 

Where'er the noble Percy fought, 

His friend was at his side ; 
And many a skirmish with the Scots 

Their early valour tried. 

* This If a Bull's Head, the crest of the Wlddrington fa- 
mily. AU the Biuret, Ac. here described are still visible, 
only somewhat eflhoed with length of time. 



Young Bertram lov'd a beauteous 
Aa lair aa fair might be ; 

The dew-drop on the lily's cheek 
Was not so fair as she. 



Fair Wlddrington the maiden's name, 
Yon towers her dwelling-place* ; 

Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, 
Devoted to thy race. 

. If any a lord, and many a knight, 
f To this fair damsel came ; 
But Bertram was her only choice ; 
For him she felt a flame. 



Lord Percy pleaded for his friend. 

Her father soon consents; 
None but the beauteous maid herself 

His wishes now prevents. 

But she, with studied fond delays. 

Defers the blissful hour ; 
And loves to try his constancy, 

And prove her maiden power. 

" That heart," she said, " ia lightly pris'd, 

Which is too lightly won ; 
And long shall rue that easy maid 

Who yields her love too soon." 

Lord Percy made a solemn feast 

In Alnwick's princely hall ; 
And there came fords, and there came knights, 

His chiefs and barons alL 

With wassail, mirth, and revelry, 

The castle rang around : 
Lord Percy call'd for song and harp, 

And pipes of martial sound. 

The minstrels of thy noble house, 

All clad in robes of blue, 
With silver crescents on their arms. 

Attend in order due. 

The great achievements of thy race 
They sung: their high command : 

How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas 
First led his northern band f. 

Brave Galfred next to Normandy 

With venturous Rollo came ; 
And, from his Norman castles won, 

Assum'd the Percy name J. 

They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet 

Lord William ahipp'd his power*. 
And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride 

With all her lands and towers §. 






* Wlddrington Castle to about eve miles tooth of Wark> 
worth. 

t See Dugdalc's Baronetage, p. 209, &c 

X In Lower Normandy are three pjicea of the name of 
Percy : whence the family took the surname of Dc Percy. 

S William de Percy (Bfth in descent from Galrred or 
Getfery de Percy, son of Mainfred) assisted in the conquest 
of England, and had given him the large poeacaaloaa, la 
Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte (so the Norman writers 
name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord, had been slala 
fighting along with Harold. This yoang lady, William 



1 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



tm 



Then journeying to the Holy Land, 
There bravely fought and died ; 

But first the silver crescent won, 
Some paynim Soldan's pride. 

Thev sung bow Agnes, beauteous heir, 
The Queen's own brother wed, 

Lord Josceline, sprang from Charlemagne, 
In princely Brabant bred * ; 

How be the Percy name reviv'd, 

And how bis noble line, 
Still foremost in their country's cause, 

With godlike ardour shine. 

With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd 

Applaud the master's song, 
And deeds of arms and war became 

The theme of every tongue. 

Now high heroic acta they tell, 

Their perils past recall : 
When, lo ! a damsel young and foir 

Stepp'd forward through the hall. 

She Bertram courteously address'd ; 

And, kneeling on her knee, — 
" Sir knight, the lady of thy lore 

Hath sent this gift to thee." 

Then forth she drew a glittering helm, 

Well plaited many a fold ; 
The casque was wrought of temper'd steel, 

The crest of burnish 'd gold. 

" Sir kpight, thy lady sf nds thee this, 

And yields to be thy bride, 
When thou hast proved this maiden gift 

Where sharpest blows are tried." 

Young Bertram took the shining helm, 
And thrice he kiss'd the same : 
Trust'me, 111 prove this precious casque 
With deeds of noblest fame." 



u 



Lord Percy, and bis Barons bold. 

Then fix upon a day 
To scour the marches, late opprest, 

And Scottish wrongs repay. 

The knights assembled on the hills 

A thousand horse or more : 
Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years, 

The Percy standard bore. 

Tweed's limpid current soon they pass, 
And range the borders round : 

Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale 
Their bugle-horns resound. 



from a principle of honour and generosity, married : for 
having had all her lands bestowed upon him by the Con* 
qneror," he (to use the words of the old Whitby Chronicle) 
wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in ditcharging 
of his conscience." See HarL MSS. 092 (?6). He died at 
Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, in the first crusade. 

* Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her honse, married Jos- 
celine de Lonvaine, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatns, 
Dokeof Brabant, and brother of Queen Adelisa. second wife 
of King Henry I. He took the name of Percy, and was 
ancestor of the earls of Northumberland. His son, lord 
Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-six barons chosen 
to seo the Magna Chart* f*uly observed. 



As when a lion in his den 
Hath heard the hunters' cries, 

And rushes forth to meet his foes ; 
So did the Douglas rise. 

Attendant on their chief's command 

A thousand warriors wait : 
And now the fatal hour drew on 

Of cruel keen debate. 

A chosen troop of Sottish youths 

Advance before the rest ; 
Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien, 
• And thus his friend address'd : 

" Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm. 

Attack yon forward band ; 
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee, 

Or perish by their hand.' 



»» 



Young Bertram bow'd, with glnd assent 
And spurr'd his eager steed, 

And calling on his lady's name, 
Rush'd Forth with whirlwind speed. 

As when a grove of sapling oaks 

The livid lightning rends ; 
So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks 

Sir Bertram's sword descends. 

This way and that he drives the steel. 
And keenly pierces through *, 

And many a tall and comely knight 
With furious force he slew. 

Now closing fast on every side, 
They hem Sir Bertram round : 

But dauntless he repels their rage, 
And deals forth many a wound. 

The vigour of his single arm 
Had well nigh won the field ; 

When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, 
And clave his lifted shield. 

Another blow his temples took, 
And reft his helm in twain ; 

That beauteous helm, his lady's gift ! 
—His blood bedew'd the plain. 

Lord Percy sow his champion fall 

Amid th' unequal fight ; 
" And now, my noble friends," he said, 
Let's save this gallant knight," 



« 



Then rushing in, with stretch 'd-out shield, 

He o'er the warrior hung, 
As some fierce eagle spreads her wing 

To guard her callow young. 

Three times they strove to seise their prey, 
Three times they quick retire : 

What force could stand his furious strokes. 
Or meet his martial fire ? 

Now gathering round on every part 

The battle rag'd amain ; 
And many, a lady wept her lord, 

That hour untimely slain. 



T-*" 



*m— 



**H 



THE HERMIT OF W ARK WORTH. 



Percy and Douglas, great in arms, 

There all their courage show'd ; 
And all the 6eld was strew'd with dead, 

And all with crimson flow'd. 

At length the glory of the day 

The Scots reluctant yield, 
And, after wondrous valour shown, 

They slowly quit the field* 

All pale, extended on their shields, 

And weltering in his gore, 
Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend 

To Wark's fair castle bore *. 

" Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's lore," 

Her father kindly said ; 
" And she herself shall dress thy wounds, 

And tend thee in thy bed." 

A message went ; no daughter came, 

Fair Isabel ne'er appears ; 
" Beshrew me,*' said the aged chief, 

" Young maidens hare their fears. 

" Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see, 

So soon as thou canst ride ; 
And she shall nurse thee in her bower, 

Ahd she shall be thy bride." 

Sir Bertram at her name reviv'd, 

He bless'd the soothing sound ; 
Fond hope supplied the nurse's caro, 

And heal'd his ghastly wound. 

fit in. 

Onb early morn, while dewy drops 

Hung trembling on the tree, 
Sir Bertram from nis sick-bed rose; 

His bride he would go see. 

A brother he had in prime of youth, 

Of courage firm and keen ; 
And he would 'tend him on the way, 

Because his wounds were green. 

All day o'er moss and moor they rode. 

By many a lonely tower ; 
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night 

Ere they drew near her bower. 

Most drear and dark the castle seem'd, 

That wont to shine so bright ; 
And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd 

Ere he beheld a light. 

At length her aged nurse arose, ' 

With Toice so shrill and clear, — 
" What wight is this, that calls bo loud, 

'And knocks so boldly here?" 

" Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's lore, 

Come from his bed or care : 
All day I We ridden o'er moor and most 

To see thy lady fair." 

* Wark Cattle, * fortress belonging to the English, and 
of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks 
of the River Tweed, a little to the east of TiviotdAe, and 
not far from Kelso. It Is now entirely destroyed. 



M Now out, alas !" she loudly shriekM ; 

" Alas ! how may this be ? 
For six long days are gone and peat 

Since she set out to thee." 

Sad terror seiz'd Sir Bertram's heart. 

And ready was he to fall ; 
When now the drawbridge was let down. 

And gates were opened all. 

" Six days, young knight, are past and gone. 

Since she set out to thee ; 
And sure, if no sad harm had happ'd. 

Long since thou wouldst her see. 



«< 



For when she heard thy grievous chance, 
She tore her hair, and cried, 
Alas ! IVe slain the comeliest knight, 
All through my folly and pride ! 



" ' And now to atone for mv sad fault 
And his dear health regain, 

I'll go myself, and nurse my love. 
And soothe his bed of pain/ 



" Then mounted she her milk-white 
One morn at break of day ; 

And two tall yeomen went with her, 
To guard her on the way." 



Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart,* 
And grief o'erwhelmM his mind : 

" Trust me" said he, " I ne'er will rest 
Till I thy lady find." 



That night he spent in sorrow and 
And with sad-boding heart 

Or ever the dawning of the day 
His brother and he depart. 



u 



Now, brother, well our ways divide 
O'er Scottish hills to range ; 
Do thou go north, and I'll go west ; 
And all our dress well change. 

" Some Scottish carle hath seiz'd my love. 

And borne her to his den ; 
And ne'er will I tread English ground 

Till she's restor'd again." 

The brothers straight their pedis divide. 

O'er Scottish hills to range ; 
And hide themselves in quaint disguise, 

And oft their dress they change. 

Sir Bertram, clad in gown of grey, 

Most like a palmer poor, 
To halls and castles wanders round, 

And begs from door to door. 

Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, 
With pipe so sweet and shrill ; 

And wends to every tower and town, 
O'er every dale and hill. 

One day as he sat under a thorn, 

All sunk in deep despair, 
An aged pilgrim pass'd him by. 

Who mark'd his face of care. 



—mmm 



HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 189 


" All minstrels yet that e'er I saw 
Are full of game and glee ; 

Bat thou art sad and woe-begone ! 
I marvel whence it be !" fe 


The first night, as he silent tch'd 
All at the midnight hour, 

He plainly heard his lady's voice 
Lamenting in the tower. 


" Father, I serve an aged lord, 
Whose crief afflicts my mind ; 

His only child is stolen away. 
And fain I would her find." 


The second night, the moon shone clear, 
And gilt the spangled dew ; 

He saw his lady through the grate. 
But 'twas a transient view. 


" Cheer up, my son ; perchance/' he said, 

" Some tidings I may bear : 
For oft when human hopes have fail'd, 

Then heavenly comfort's near. 


The third night, wearied out, he slept 
'Till near the morning tide ; 

When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, 
And to the castle hied. 


" Behind yon hills so steep and high, 

Down in a lowly glen, 
There stands a castle fair and strong, 

Far from the abode of men. 


When, lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes 
Depending from the wall : 

And o'er the moat was newly laid 
A poplar strong and talL 


" As late I chanc'd to crave an alms, 
About this evening hour, 

Methought I heard a lady's voice 
lamenting in the tower. 


And soon he saw his love descend 

Wrapt in a tartan plaid, 
Assisted by a sturdy youth . «f 

In Highland garb y-clad. 


" And when I ask'd what barm had happ'd, 

What lady sick there lay 7 
They rudely drove me from the gate, 

And bade me wend away." 


Amaz'd, confounded at the sight, 

He lay unseen and still ; 
And soon he saw them cross the stream. 

And mount the neighbouring hill. 


These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear, 
He thank d him for his tale ; 

And soon be hasted o'er the hills, 
And soon he reach'd the vale. 


Unheard, unknown of all within, 

The youthful couple fly ; 
But what can 'scape the lover's ken, 

Or shun his piercing eye 1 


Then drawing near those lonely towers. 
Which stood in dale so low, 

And sitting down beside the gate, 
His pipes he 'gan to blow. 


With silent step he follows close 

Behind the flying pair, 
And saw her bane upon his arm 

With fond familiar air. 

» 


" Sir Porter, is thy lord at home, 
To hear a minstrel's song ; 

Or may I crave a lodging here, 
Without offence or wrong I " 


" Thanks, gentle youth," she often said ; 

" My thanks thou well hast won : 
For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd 1 

For me what dangers run ! 


" My lord," he said, " is not at home, 
To hear a minstrel's song ; 

And, should I lend thee lodging here, 
My life would not be long." 


" And ever shall my grateful heart 
Thy services repay : "— 

Sir Bertram would no further hear, 
But cried, " Vile traitor, stay I 


He play'd again so soft a strain, 
Such power sweet sounds impart, 

He won the churlish porter's ear, 
And mov'd bis stubborn heart. 


" Vile traitor ! yield that lady up !" 
And quick his sword he drew ; » 

The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, 
And at Sir Bertram flew. 


" Minstrel," he said, " thou play'st so sweet, 
Fair entrance thou should st win ; 

But, alas ! I'm sworn upon the rood 
To let no stranger in. 


% 
With mortal hate their vigorous arms 

Gave many a vengeful blow ; 
But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd, 

And laid the stranger low. 


- Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff 
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave ; 

And here thou shalt my supper share, 
And there thy lodging have." 


<' Die, traitor, die ! "—A deadly thrust 
Attends each furious word. 

Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice. 
And rush'd beneath his sword. 


All day he sits beside the gate, 
Ana pipes both loud and clear : 
* All night he watches round the walls, 
In hopes his love to hear. 


" stop," she cried, " stop thy arm ( 

Thou dost thy brother slay 1 " — 
And here the Hermit paus'd, and wept ? 

His tongue no more could say. v j 



r 



f90 



THE HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 



At length he cried, " Ye lovely pair, 

How shall I tell the rest 1 
Ere I could stop my piercing sword, 

It fell, and stabbM her breast," 

" Wert thou thyself that hapless youth ? 

Ah ! cruel fate !" they said. 
The Hermit wept, and so did they : * - 

They sigh'd ; he hung his bead. 

" O blind and jealous rage," he cried, 
" What erils from thee flow V 

The Hermit paua'd ; they silent mourn'd i 
He wept, and they were woe. 



Ah ! when I heard my brother's 
And saw my lady bleed, 

I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm 
That wrought the fetal deed. 



In Tain I clasp'd her to my breast, 
And clos'd the ghastly wound ; 

In vain I press'd his bleeding corpse. 
And rais'd it from the ground. * 

My brother, alas ! spake never more, 

His precious life was flown : 
8be kindly strove to soothe my pain, 

Regardless of her own. 

" Bertram," she said, " be comforted, 

And lire to think on me : 
May we in heaven that union prove. 

Which here was not to be 1 

" Bertram," she said, " I still was true ; 

Thou only hadst my heart : 
May we hereafter meet in bliss 1 

We now, alas I must part. 

" For thee I left my father's hall, 

And flew to thy relief, 
When, lo ! near Cheviot's fatal hills 

I met a Scottish chief, 

" Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love 

I had refusM with scorn-; 
He slew my guards, and seis'd on me 

Upon that fetal morn ; 

" And in these dreary hated walls 

He kept me close confin'd ; 
And fondly sued, and warmly press'd, 

To win me to his mind. 

M Each rising mom increas'd my pain, ' 
Each night increas'd my fear I 

When, wandering in this northern garb, 
Thy brother found me here. 

" He quickly form'd the brave design 

To set me, captive, free ; 
And on the moor his horses wait, 

Tied to a neighbouring tree. 

" Then haste, my love, escape away, 

And for thyself provide ; 
And sometimes fondly think on her 

Who should have been tW bride." 



Thus, pouring comfort on my soul* 

Even with her latest breath, 
She gave one parting, fond embrace, 

Ana clos'd her eyes in death. 

In wild amaze, in speechless woe,, 

Devoid of sense, I lay : 
Then sudden, all in frantic mood, 

I meant myself to slay. 

And, rising up in furious haste, 

I seis'd the bloody brand * : 
A sturdy arm here interpos'd, 

And wrench'd it from my hand. 

A crowd, that from the castle came, 
Had mias'd their lovely ward ; 

And seising me, to prison bare, 
And deep in dungeon barr'd. 

It ohano'd that on that very morn 
Their chief was prisoner ta'en ; 

Lord Percy had us soon exchang'd, 
And strove to soothe my pain. 

And soon those honour'd dear remains 

To England were convey'd ; 
And there within their silent tombs. 

With holy rites, were laid. 

For me, I loath'd my wretched life, 

And long to end it thought ; 
Till time, and books, and holy men, 

Had better counsels taught. 

They rais'd my heart to that pure source 
Whence heavenly comfort flows : 

They taught me to despise the world, 
And calmly bear its woes. 

No more the slave of human pride, 

Vain hope, and sordid care, 
I meekly vow'd to spend my life 

In penitence and prayer. 

The bold Sir Bertram, now no more 

Impetuous, haughty, wild ; 
But poor and humble Benedict, 

Now lowly, patient, mild. 

My lands I gave to feed the poor. 

And sacred altars raise ; 
And here, a lonely anchorite, 

I came to end my days. 

This sweet sequester'd vale I chose, 
These rocks, and hanging grove ; 

For oft beside that murmuring stream 
My love was wont to rove. 

My noble friend approv'd my choice ; 

This blest retreat he gave : 
And here I carv'd her beauteous form, 

And scoop'd this holy cave. 

Full fifty winters, all forlorn, 

My life I've linger'd here ; 
And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint 

I drop the pensive tear. 

_ . _ ^ 

• i.«. sword. 



THE HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 



m 



i 



And thou, dear brother of my heart I 

So faithful and §o true, 
The aad remembrance of thy fete 

Still makes my bosom rue 1 

Yet not nnpitied peas'd my life. 

Forsaken or forgot, 
The Percy and his noble sons 

Would grace my lowly cot ; 

Oft the great Earl, from toils of state 
And cumbrous pomp of power, 

Would gladly seek my little cell, 
To spend the tranquil hour. 

Bat length of life is length of woe ! 

1 liv'd to mourn his tall : 
I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons 

And friends and followers all. 

But thou the honours of thy race, 
Lov'd youth, ahalt now restore ; 

And raise again the Percy name 
More glorious than before. 



He ceaa'd ; and on the lovely pair 

His choicest blessings laid : 
While they, with thanks and pitying tears. 

His mournful tale repaid. 

And now what present course to take 

They ask the (rood old sire ; 
And, guided by his sage advice. 

To Scotland they retire. 

Meantime their suit such favour found 

At Raby's stately hall, 
Earl Neville and his princely spouse 

Now gladly pardon alL 

She, suppliant, at her nephew's* throne 

The royal grace implor'd : 
To all the honours of his race 

The Percy was restor'd. 

The youthful Earl still more and mora 
Admir'd his beauteous dame : 

Nine noble sons to him she bore, 
All worthy of their name. 

•King Henry V. Ana* 14*1. 



1- 



GLOSSARY. 



The Scottish words are denoted by ■., French by f.» Latin by 1., Anglo-Saxon by a.!., Icelandic by i*L, fte. 
For the etymology of the words in this volume, the reader is referred to Jnnii Btymologicom Anglicanum, Edldit Ed. Lye. 

Oxon, 174s, folio. 



4* Au, a. all 

Abacke, hack 

Abon*, aboon, s. above 

Aboven out, above us 

Abowght, about 

Abratde, p. 44, col. 1, abroad 

Abye, suffer, to pay for 

Acton, a kind of armour made of 
taffeta, or leather quilted, &c, 
worn under the habergeon, to 
save the body from bruises, & 
Hocqueton 

A deid ofnicht, s. in dead of night 

Advoutry, Advouterout, adultery, 
adulterous 

Aff, s. off 

Afore, before 

Aft, &. oft 

Agayne, against 

Agoe, gone 

Ante, ought 

Aik, a. oak 

Ain, Avoin, a, own 

Aith, a. oath 

Alate, p. t7, col. 2, of late 

jM, albeit, although 

AUmaigne, f. Germany 

/!/ gift, although 

Alyes, probably corrupted for 
algatet 9 always 

Ann, if 

An, p. 21, col. 1, and 

Ancient, a flag, banner 

Ancyent, standard 

Ant, 8. one, an, a 

Angel, a gold coin worth 10s. 

Ant, and 

ApUht, AX aplyht, quite com* 
plete 

Aquoy, coy, shy 

.draj, p. 2, col. 8, jlrrw, p. 3, col. 
1, arrows 

Arcir, p. 21, col. 1, archer 

Argabuthe, harquebus*©, an old 
reshioned kind of musket 

Ate, as 

Atsinde, assigned 

AttoyVd, Auoyled, absolved 

Attate, estate, also a great person 

Attended, astonished, stunned 

Astound, Attonyed, stunned, asto- 
nished, confounded 



Ath, p. 2, col. 2, Athe, p. 3, col. 1, 

o'th', of the 
Attowre, s.out over, over and above 
A Twyde, p. 2, col. 2, of Tweed 
Auld, s. old 
Aureat, golden 
Autterne, p. 75, col. 1, stern, 

austere 
Avow, p. 8, col. 1, tow 
Avovoe, vow 

Avoyd, p. 54, col. 2, void, vacate 
A tea', s. away 
Axw2, asked 

Ayanee, p. 73, coL 1, against 
Aye, ever, also, ah, alas 
Aiein, Agein, against 
Asont, s. beyond 
Aient the ingle, s. beyond the 

fire. The fire was in the middle 

of the room. 

In the west of Scotland, at this pre- 
sent time, in many cottages they pile 
their peats and turfs upon stones in the 
middle of the room. There is a hole 
above the fire in the ridge of the house 
to let the smoke ont at. In some 
places are cottage-bouses, from the front 
of which a very wide chimney projects 
like a bow window : the fire is in a 
grate like a malt-kiln grate, round 
which the people sit : sometimes they 
draw this grate into the middle of the 
room.— Jfr. Lambe. 

B. 
Ba\ s. ball 

BacheUere, p. 12, col. 1 , &c. knight 
Baile, bale, p. 12, col. 1, p. 22, 

col. 2, evil, hurt, mischief, 

misery 
Bairne, s. child 
Bairn, s. child 
Bakrded, s. bearded 
Baith, s. Bathe, both 
Bale, evil, mischief, misery 
Balow, s. a nursery term, hush, 

lullaby, Ate 
Balyibete, p. 5, col. 2, Better our 

bale*, L e. remedy our evils 
Bane, bone 

Ban, curse, Banning, cursing 
BanderoUet, streamers, little flags 
Band, p. 13, col. 2, bond, covenant 
Bar, bare 
Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps 

bared 



Borne, p. 2, col. 2, Berne, p. 6, 

ooL 2, man, person 
Bate court, the lower court of & 

castle 
Batnete, Batnite, Batnyte, Batonet, 

Battonette, helmet 
Battet, heavy sticks, clubs 
Baud, s. bold 

Bauten, s. Skinne, p. 80, coL 1, 
perhaps sheen's leather dressed 
and coloured red, f. Barane, 
sheep's leather. In Scotland, 
sheepskin mittens,with the wool 
on the inside, are called bauson 
mittens. Bauson also signifies 
a badger, in old English, it may 
therefore signify perhaps bad- 
ger's skin 

Bayard, a noted blind horse in the 
old romances. The horse on 
which the four sons of A ymon 
rode is called Bayard Montal- 
bon, by Skelton, in bis " Phillip 
Sparrow." 

Bearing arrow, an arrow that 
carries well. Or perhaps bear- 
ing or birring, l e. whirling 
or whirring arrow, from isL 
Bir. ventus, or a. s. 

Bene, fremitus 

Beam, Bairn, s. child, also human 
creature 

Be, s. by, Be that, by that time 

Bed, bade 

Bede, offer, engage 

Bedeene t immediately 

Bedight, bedecked 

Bedone, wrought, made up 

Bedylt, beadles 

Befall, befallen 

Befohr, s. before 

Beforn, before 

Begylde, p. 25, col 1, beguiled, de- 
ceived 

Beheard, heard 

Behettt, commands, injunctions 

Behove, p. 47, col 1, behoof 

Betive, immediately, presently 

Belyfe, p. Belive, immediately , by 
and by, shortly 

Bende-bow, a bent bow, qu. 

Bene, Bean, an expression of i 
tempt s 



Vili 



GLOSSARY. 



Rett, be, are 

Ben, Bens, been 

Ben, s. within the inner-room 

" Bat o' house," roeuu the outer 
part of the house, outer room, viz. that 
part of the honae into which you first 
enter, suppose from the street. " Ben 
o' house, ia the inner room, or more 
retired part of the honae. The daughter 
did not lie out of doora. The cottager* 
often desire their landlord* to build 
them a But and a Ben. (Vi<L Gloss,)— 
Mr. Lambe. 

Ben, s. within doors 

Of the Scottish words Ben and 
But, Bkn ia from the Dutch Binnin. 
Lai. intra, intu$, which 1« compounded 
of the preposition Br or Be (the same 
as By in English), and of In. 

Benison, blessing 

Bent, a. long grass, also wild fields, 
where bents, &c. grow 

Bent, p. 1, coL 2, bents, p. 12 
col. 1 , (where bents, long coarse 
grast, &c. grow) the field, fields 

Benyttgne, p. 16, coL 1, Benigne, 
benign, kind 

Beoth, be, are 

Barnes, barns 

Beere, s. bier 

Beretk, (Introd.) beareth 

Ber the pryi, bare the prize 

Beryt, beareth 

Beseems, become 

Beshrewme, a lesser form of impre- 
cation 

Beshradde, cut into shreds 

Besmirche, to soil, discolour 

Besprent, besprinkled 

Bests, beett, art 

Bested, abode 

Bettis, beasts 

Bestrawghted, p. 49, coL f , dis- 
tracted 

Beth, be, are 

Be that, p. 2, col. 2, by that time 

Beete, did beat 

Bet, better, bett, did beat 

fteuratej, discovers, betrays 

Biekarts, p. 2, coL 2, bicker'd, 
skirmished 

(It is also used sometimes in the 

sense of, "swiftly coursed," 

which seems to be the sense, 

n. 2, col. 2. — Mr. Lambe) 

Mr. Lambe also interprets " Bics.xn~ 
i mo/' by rattling, e. e. 

And on that slee Ulysses head, 



Sad curses down docs bicsvxr. 

Transitu, of Ovid. 

Bill, b)e., p. 74, coL 3, 1 have de- 
livered a promise in writing, 
confirmed by an oath. 

Bi mi leauti, by my loyalty, honesty 

Birk, s. birch-tree 

Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. linger, 
stop 

Biane, p. 4, col. 1, Blanne, did 
blin, u e. linger, stop 

Blare, to emblazon, display 

Biaw, s. blow 

Blee, complexion 

Blee, colour, complexion 



Bleid, s. Blede, bleed 

Blsnt, blended 

Blent, ceased 

Blittne, cease, give over 

Blinkan, Blinkand, s. twinkling 

Blinking, squinting 

Blink, s. a glimpse of light, the 
sudden light of a candle seen 
in the night at a distance 

Blink*, s. twinkles, sparkles 

Blist, blessed 

Btive, Be live, s. immediately 

Bloomed, p. 80, col. 1, beset with 
bloom 

Blude, Bluid red, blood, s. blood 
red 

Bluid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody 

Blyth, Blithe, s. sprightly, joyous 

Blyth, s joy, sprighuiness 

Blyve, Betive, s. instantly 

Boors, bare, 

Bode, p. 25, col. 1, abode, stayed 

Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters 

Bookuman, clerk, secretary 

Bollyi, bowls 

Boltet, shafts, arrows 

Bomen, p. 2, col. 2, bowman 

Boon, favour, request, petition 

Boone, a favour, request, petition 

Bonny, Bonnie, s. comely 

Bore, born 

Borrowed, p. 9, col. 1, warranted, 
pledged, was exchanged for 

Borrowe, Borowe, pledge, surety 

Borowe, p. 42, col. 2, to redeem by 
a pledge 

Bote, boot, advantage 

Boot, Boote, advantage, help, as- 
sistance 

Boote, gain, advantage 

Bot, s. but, sometimes it seems 
used for both, or, besides, more 
over 

Bot and, s.p, 13, col. 1, (it should 
probably be both and), and also 

Bot, a. without, Bot dreid, with- 
out dread, certainly 

BougiU, s. bugle-horn, hunting 
horn 

BougUU, s. bugle horns 

Bounds, Bowynd, Bowned, pre- 
pared, got ready, the word is 
also used in the north in the 
sense of went or was going 

Bowne, to dine p. 11, col. 2, going 
to dine 

Bourne, is a common word in the 
North for going, e. g. Where 
are you bowne to, where are 
you going 

Bower, Bowre, any bowed or arched 
room, a parlour, chamber, also 
a dwelling in general 

Bowre, bower, habitation, cham- 
ber, parlour, perhaps from isL 
Bowan, to dwell 

Bowre-woman, s. chamber-maid 

Bowre-window, chamber-window 

Bowendet, bounds 

Bowne, ready 



Bowne, ready, Bowned, prepared 

Bowne ye, prepare ye, get ready 

Bowyt, bows 

Brads, Braid, s. broad 

Brae, s. the brow or side of a 
hill, a declivity 

Braes of Yarrow, s. the hilly banks 
of the river Yarrow 

Braid, a. broad, large 

Brake*, tufts of fern 

Brand, sword 

Brandet, swords 

Brast, burst 

Brew, 8. brave 

Braifly, s. bravely 

Brayd, s. arose, hastened 

Brayd attowre the bent, s. hasted 
over the field 

Brayde, drew out, unsheathed 

Breech, p. 80, coL 1, breaches 

Breeden bale, breed mischief 

Breds, breadth. So Chancer 

Bred banner, p. 7, coL 1, broad 
banner 

Brenand- drake, p. may perhaps be 
the same as a fire-drake, or fiery 
serpent, a meteor or fire-wort 
so called. Here it seems to 
signify burning embers, or fire 
brands 

Breng, Bryng, bring 

Brenn. s. burn 

Breere, Brere, briar 

Brether, brethren 

Bridal (properly bride-ally, the 
nuptial feast 

Brigue, Brigg, bridge 

Brimme, public, universally known 
a. a. Bryme, idem 

Britlsd, carved, via. Bryttlynge. 
Gloss, vol. 1. 

Broadrarrow, s. a broad forked 
headed arrow 

Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dl v, 
a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental 
trinket. Stone buckles of silver 
or gold, with which gentlemen 
and ladies clasp their shirt- 
bosoms and handkerchiefs, are 
called in the north, brooches, 
from the f. broche, a spit 

Brouch, an ornamental trinket, a 
stone buckle for a woman's 
breast, etc. vid. Brooche. Glos 
vol. 3. 

Brocht, s. brought 

Brodinge, pricking 

Brooke, p. 72, col. 2, bear, eudurt 

Brooke, p. 4, col. 2, enjoy 

Brouk her with winne, enjoy he. 
with pleasure, s.s. brok 

Browd, broad 

Brost, brought 

Bryttlynge, p. 2, coL 2, Brytlyng, 
p. 2, col. 2, cutting up, quarter- 
ing, carving 

Buen, Bueth, been, be, are 

Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting-horn, 
being the horn of a bugle, or 
wild bull 



GLOSSARY. 



2<tt 



Buik, b. book 

B urgent buds, young shoots 

Burn, Bourn, brook 

Bushment, ambushment, ambush, 

a snare to bring them into 

trouble 
Busket, Buskt, dressed 
Busk ye, s. dress ye 
Busk, dress, deck 
Bmk and foun.p. 31, col. 2, i. e. 

make yourselves ready and go ; 

Bonn, to go. (north country.) 
Buskt them, p. 25, col. 2, prepared 

themselves, made themselves 

ready 
Bute, s. boot, advantage, good 
But if, unless 

But without, But let, without hin- 
drance 
Bur, a. without, out of doors 

Bcrr, or Butt, it from the Dutch 
BuYTK2f. L*u rjtra, prceUr, prceter- 
quam, which i« compounded of the 
fame preposition, By or Bs, mud of 
u»T, the Mine u out in English. 

Butt, s. out, the outer room, 

Buffet, butts to shoot at 

Bydys, Bides, abides 

Byears, Beerts, biers 

Bye, buy, pay for, also A-bye, 

suffer for 
ByU, Bill, an ancient kind of hal- 

bert, or battle-axe, p. 2, coL 2. 
Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are 
Byrehe, birch-trees, birch-wood 
Byre s. cow-house 
Byste, bt> est, art 
By thre, p 40, col. 2, of three 



Cadgily, s. merrily, cheerfully 

Caitiff, a slave 

Calde, eallyd, p. 3, col. 1, called 

Cullver, a Kind of musket 

Camscho, s. stern, grim 

Canna, s. cannot 

Can cane, p. 7, col. 2, p. 8 ; Gan, 
began to cry 

Can rurtesye, know, understand 
good manners 

Can, Gan, began 

Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls 

Cantabanqui, ital. ballad-singers, 
singers on benches 

Cantlet, pieces, corners 

Canty, 8. cheerful, chatty 

Caput, a poor horse 

Capull hyde, p. 25, col. 2, horse- 
hide 

Care-bed, bed of care 

Carle, cbur), clown. It is also 
used in the north for a btrong 
hale old man 

Car line, s. the feminine of carle 

Carpe y to speak, recite, also to 
censure 

Carjing, reciting 

Otrpi oj care, p. 4, col. 2, com- 
plain through care 

'laiLsh, churlish, discourteous 



Cast, p. 3, col. 1, mean, intend 

Cau, s. call 

Cauld, s. cold 

Cawte, vid. Katcte 

Caytiffe, caitiff, slave, despicable 

wretch 
Cctet, certainly 

Cetywall, p. 79, col. 2, Setiwall, 
the herb Valerian : also, moun- 
tain spikenard. See Gerard's 
Herbal 
Chanteclere, the cock 
Chapt knock 
Chayme, chain 
Chays, chase 
Check, to stop 
Cheek, to rate at 
Che, (Somerset dialect), I 
Cheefe, the upper part of the 

scutcheon in heraldry 
Cheit, s. choose 
Chevaliers, f. knights 
Chill, (Som. dial.) I mil 
Child, p. 28, knight, children, p. 

12, col. 2, knights. 
Chieldy s. is a slight or familiar 
way of speaking of a person, 
like our English word fellow. 
The Chield, i. e. the fellow 
Chould, (ditto) I would 
Christentie, Christendom 
Chris tent ye i Chrystiante, Christen- 
dom 
Church-ale, a wake, a feast in com- 
memoration of the dedication of 
a church 
Churl, clown, a person of low 

birth, a villain 
Chyf, Chyfe, chief 
Chylder, children, children's 
ChyUled, brought forth, was deli- 
vered 
Claiths, s. clothes 
Clattered, beat so as to rattle 
Clawde, clawed, tore, scratched; 

p. 47, col. 1, figuratively beat 
CUad, s. clothed 
Cleadiug, s. clothing 
Cled, a. clad, clothed 
Clenking, clinking, jingling 
Clepe, call 

Cleaped, Cleped, called, named 
Clerke, scholar 

C/erta, clergymen, literati, scholars 
Cliding, s. clothing 
Clim, the contraction of Clement 
Clough, a north-country word for 

a broken cliff 
Clowch, clutch, grasp 
Coate, cot, cottage | 

Cockers, p. 80, col. 1, a sort of 
buskins or short boots fastened 
with laces or buttons, and often 
worn by farmers or shepherds. 
In Scotland they are called Cu- 
tikina, from Cute, the ankle. 
" Cokers, fishermen's boots."-— 
(Littleton's Diction.) 
C oh or led, incited, exhorted 
Cokenev, seems to be a dimi- 



nutive for rook, from the Latin 
coq uinator, or coquinarius. The 
meaning seems to be that 
" every five and five had a cook 
or scullion to attend them."-~ 
Chaucer 1 s Cant. Tales, 8vo. vol. 
iv. p. 253. 
Collayne, p. 8, col. 1, Cologne 

steel 
Cold rost, (a phrase), nothing Co 

the purpose 
Cold, could, knew 
Coleyne, Cologne steel 
Com, came 

Comen, Commyn, come 
Confetered, confederated, entered 

into a confederacy 
Con, can, gan, began. Item. Con- 
springe, (a phrase), sprung, 
Con fare, went, passed 
Con thanks, give thanks 
Cop head, the top of anything, sax. 
Cordiwin, p. 80, col l,cordwayne 
properly Spanish or Cordovan 
leather ; here it signifies a more 
vulgar sort 
Corsiare, p. 4, col. 1, courser steed 
Cost, coast side 
Coote 9 coat 

Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat 
Cotydyallye, daily, every day 
Coulde, cold. Item, could 
Could be, p. 75, col. 2, was. Coulu 
dye, p. 8. col. 2, died (a phrase) 
Could bear, a phrase for bare 
Could creip, s. crept. Could say, 

said 
Could trap, s. wept 
Could his good,knew what waa good 
for him. Or perhaps could live 
upon his own 
Countie, p. 78, col. 2, c6unt, earl 
Coupe, a pen for poultry 
Couthen, knew 
Couth, could 
Covetite, covetousness 
Coyntrie, p. 80, col. 1, Coventry 
Cranume, s. crimson 
Crancky, merry, sprightly, ex* 

ulting 
Cranion, skull 
Credence, belief 
Crevis, crevice, chink 
Cric/te, s. properly an ant, but 
means probably any small insect 
Crinkle, run in and out, run into 

flexures, wrinkle 
Ciistet con, p. 3, col. 1, Christ's 

curse 
Cr>ft, an inclosure near a house 
Crete, cross 

Crook my knee, make lame my 
knee. They say in the north, 
"the horse is crookit," i. e 
lame. " The horse crooks," i.e 
goes lame 
Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort 
Croweh, crutch 
Crouneth, crown ye 
Croat, to pucker up 



f9f 



GLOSSARY. 



Crumpling, crooked ; 01 perhaps 

with crooked knotty horns 
Cryanee, belief, f. Creance [whence 

recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1. 

&c, it seems to signify fear, f. 

Crainte 
Cule, s. cool 

Cum, a. come, p. S, col. 2, came 
Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f. 

Commire, Compere 
Cure, care, heed, regard 

D. 

Dale, a. deal, Bat give J dale, unless 

Ideal 
Dampned, damned 
Dampned, p. 4f, coL 1, con- 
demned 
Dan, an ancient title of respect, 

from Lat. Dominue 
Dank, moist, damp 
Danske, Denmark, query 
Darr'd, a. hit 

Dark, perhaps for Thar, there 
Dart the trie, s. hit the tree 
Daukin, diminutiTe of Darid 
Daunger hault, coyness holdeth 
Dawes fintrod.), days 
Dealan, deland, a. dealing 
Deare day, charming pleasant 

day 
Deas, Deis, the high table in a hall, 

from f. Dais, a canopy 
Dee, a. die 
De, dey, dy, p. 3, col. 1, 3, coL 

2, 4, col. 2, die 
Dede is do, deed is done 
Deed (introd.) dead 
Deid, s. Dede, deed. Item, dead 
Deid-beU, s. passing-bell 
Dell, deal, part, p. 27, col. f , 

Every dell, every part 
Deli, narrow valley 
Dele, deal 
Delt, dealt 

Dce/ye <%At, richly fitted oat 
De mains, demesnes, estate in lands 
Deme, deemed, judge, doomed 
Deemed, doomed, judged, &c. ; 

thus, ra the Isle of Man, judges 

are called deemsters 
Denay, deny (rhythmi gratia) 
Dent, a dint, blow 
Deimt, s. deem'd, esteem'd 
Deip, s. Depe, deep 
Deir, a. Deere, Dere, dear 
Deir, s. dear. Item, hurt, trouble, 

disturb 
Deal, dole, grief 
Deepe-fette, deep-fetched 
Deputed, purified, run clear 
Deere, hurt, mischief 
Deerly, preciously, richly 
Dere, Deye, die 
Dere, Deere, dear, also hurt 
Derked, darkened 
Dem, s. secret, I dern in secret 
Descreeve, describe 
Deserye, Descrwe, describe 



Deyys, derise, the act of bequeath- 
ing by will 
Dight, decked, put on 
Dight-dicht, s. decked, dressed, 

prepared, fitted out, done 
DUl, p. 1 1 , col. 2, dole, grief, pain. 

DM I drye, p. 12, col. 1, pain 

1 suffer. Dill was dight, p. 11. 

col. 2, grief was upon him. 
Dill, still, calm, mitigate 
Dm, Dinne, noise, bustle 
Ding, knock, beat 
Dint, stroke, blow 
Diseust, discussed 
Disna, s. does not 
Die, p. 21, col. 1, this 
Distrere, the horse rode by a knight 

in the tournament 
Dites, ditties 
Doehter, s. daughter 
Dots, s. Days, does 
Dote, grief 
DoL See Deal, Dule 
Dolours, dolorous, mournful 
Dolefuldumps, pp. 49, col. 2, 69, 

ooL 2, sorrowful gloom, or 

heariness of heart 
Don, p down 
Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid, 

benumbed, &c 
Doth, Dothe, doeth, do 
Doubt, fear 
Doublet, a man's inner garment, 

waistcoat 
Doubteous, doubtful 
Doughetie, i. e. doughty man 
Doughte, Doughete, Doughetie, 

Dowghtye, doughty, formidable 
Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of 

blows 
Dounae, s. p. 11, col. 2, am not 

able ; properly, cannot take the 

trouble 
Doute, doubt Item, fear 
Doutted, doubted, feared 
Dousty, doughty 
Dotter, daughter 
Do*-trogh, a dough-trough, a 

kneading trough 
Drake. See Brenand Drake 
Drop, s. drop 
Dropping, s. dropping 
Dre, p. 4. coL 1, Dne, p. 31, col. 

1, suffer 
Dreid, s. Dreede, Drede, dread 
Dreips, s. drips, drops 
Dreiry, s. dreary 
Drie, s. suffer 
Drouyers, drovers, p. 67, col. 2, 

such as drive herds of cattle, 

deer, Ate. 
Drove, drew 
Drye, p. 8, col. 2, suffer 
Dryghnes, dryness 
Dryng, drink 

Dryvars, p. 2» col. 2, drovers 
Duble dvse, double (false) dice 
Dude, did. Dudett, didst 
Dughtie, doughty 
Dule, s. Duel, Dol, Dole, grief 



Duello*, Dwellamd, a. dwelling 

Dyan, Dyand, s. dying 

Dyes, s. dice, chequer-work 

Dyd, Dyde, did 

Dyght, p. 4, coL 1, dight, p. 14, 

col. 2, dressed, pat on, put 
Dyht, to dispose, order 
Dyne, s. dinner 
Dynte, dint, blow, stroke 

^«y«yng»i disguising, masking 
I>yrt, vi<L Dfcfc ', 



Easts, Erne, p, 7, coL 2, uncle 

£ord, s. earth 

■Earn, s. to curdle, make cheese 

Eathe, easy 

Eather, s. either 

Eeft, Eche, Eiehe, Eft*, each 

Ee, s. Eie, eye, Em, Ejrns, eyes 

Ee, even, evening 

E/fimri, pour forth 

Ef too*, in a abort time 

Eiked, a. added, enlarged 

Eia, s. even 

Eir, £str, a. e'er, ever 

Efc»,also; Etke, each 

Eldem, s. elder 

EUridge, Sconce, Elriche, Ehitck, 

Elrtche ; wild, hideous, ghostly. 

Item, lonesome, uninhabited, 

except by spectres. &c Gloss. 

to A. Ramsay, Elritcht, laugh. 

Gen. Shep. a. 5. 

In the ballad of Sir Cawlioe, w« 
have "Eldrldge Hill," p. IS, coL 1- 



EkMdge Knight, p. I*, c*4. 1, p. 14* 
coL 1. EMridge Sword, p. IS. col. I 
So Qawin Donglas calls the Cyclops 
the " Elriche Brethir," L e. bn-lhrro ; 
and in hit Prologue, he thoa describes 
the night-owl, 
11 Laithely of forme, with crnkit cas- 

echo belk, 
Ugsome to here was his wyM Elrkac 

shriek." 
In Baanatyne's MS. Poems (toL 135, 
In the Advocates' Library at Edia- 
bargfa) la a whimsical rhapsody of a 
deceased old woman, traveQiBg ia tat 
other world, in which, 
" 8cbo wanderit, and seal, by to aa 

Elrich well.*' 
la the Glossary to G. Douglas, B 
riche, Ac, is expfalaed by « wild, hide 
ooj, Lat Trnz. inunanis */' bat it seen* 
to imply somewhat more, as ia ABaa 
Ramsay's Glossary. 

Elke, each 

EUumynge, p. 26, col. ] , embel- 
lishing. To illumine a book 
was to ornament it with paint- 
ings in miniature 

Ellyconys, s. Helicons 

Elvish, peevish, fantastical 

Erne, kinsman, uncle 

Endyed, dyed 

Erne, s. Eyn, eyes. Ens, a. even 

Enharpid, &c. p. 96, col. 1 , hooked, 
or edged with mortal dread 

Enhankered, cankered 

Enoueh, s. enough 

Ensue, follow 

Entendement, £ understanding 






GLOSSARY. 



29T 



Ententifly, to the intent, purposely 
Envhe, Envye, malice, ill-will, in- 

jury 
Er, Ere, before, are. Ere, ear 
Frtt, s. heretofore 
Etermynable, p. 26, coL 2, inter- 
minable, unlimited 
Ettled, aimed 
Evanished, s. vanished 
Everiche, every, each 
Everychtmt, every one 
Everych, one, every one 
Ewbughtt, or Ewe-boughU, a. are 
small incloaurea, or pens, into 
which the farmers drive (Sco- 
tice, weir) their milch ewes 
morning and evening, in order 
to milk them. Thev are com- 
monly made with fall-dykes, Le. 
earthen dykes 
Exar, azure 
FacA, FecA*, fetch 
FtK&r, Fatheris, a. father, fathers 
Fadg*, s. a thick loaf of bread, 
figuratively, any coarse heap of 
•tuff 
Fa, s. fall 
Fa's s. thou fallest 
Fain, Fayne, glad, fond 
Fain*, Fayne, feign 
Fount of fight*, fond of fighting 
Fair of fear, a. of a fair and health- 
ful look. (Ramsay) perhaps, 
far off (free from) fear 
Faltan, Falland, s. falling 
Fa Ids, s. thou foldest 
Fa Is, false. Item, falleth 
Fatter, a deceiver, bypociite 
Fatting, dealing in falshood 
Fannet, instruments for winnow- 



ing corn 



Fang, seize carry off 

Farden, p. 14, col.t, fared, flashed 

Far*, go, pass, travel 

Far*, the price of a passage, shot, 
reckoning 

Farley, wonder 

Fauicone, faulcon 

Fauzt, faucht, s. fought. It, fight 

Fawn, s. fallen 

Fay, a. faith 

Fayere, p. 7, col. 1, fair 

Faytort, deceivers, dissemblers, 
cheats 

Fear*, Fere, Febre, mate 

Feat, nice, neat 

Featously, neatly, dexterously 

Fe, fee, reward ; also bribe. But 
properly fee is applied to lands 
and tenements which are held 
by perpetual right, and by ac- 
knowledgment of superiority to 
a higher lord. Thus p. 26, col. 
2, in fee, i. e. in feudal service, 
1. feud urn, &c. — Blount. 

Feil, s. FeU f many. So Har- 
dinge has Lords felt, L a. many 
Lords 

Fei-, s. Fi-re, fear 

Feiau, Fetoy, fellow 



Fete, Fell, furious, skin 

Fend, defend 

Fendytpray, &c. p. ?6, col. 2, from 
being the prey of the fiends 

Fee, reward, recompense ; it also 
signifies land when it is con- 
nected with the tenure by which 
it is held, as knight's fee, &c. 

Fere, fear. Item, companion, wife 

Ferliet, s. wondered 

Ferly, wonder, also wonderful 

Ferity, fiercely 

Fextyng, fighting 

Fetante, pheasant 

Felt*, fetched 

FrUefaJ,prepared, addressed , made 
ready 

Fet, fetched 

Feyt, s. predestinated to death, or 
some misfortune; under a fatality 

Fie, s. hearts, cattle 

Filian, FiUand, a. filling 

Fild*, field 

Finaunce, p. 26, col. 2, fine, for- 
feiture 

Find frost, find mischance or dis- 
aster. A phrase still in use 

Firth, Frith, s. a wood. It., an arm 
of the sea, 1. fretum 

Fitt, division, part. 

Pitts, i. e. "divisions or parts to 
mosic," are alluded to in Troilns and 
Cressida, A. ill, sc. 1. See Mr Stee- 
vens's note. So in Shakspear's Kins 
Henry V. (A. 3, sc 8,) the king says 
" My army's but a weak and sickly 
guard, 
Yet God before, tell him #e will come 
on." 

Fit, p. 3, col. 1, Fyt, p. 42, col. 2, 
Fytte, p. 21, col. 2, part or di- 
vision of a song. Hence in p. 
18, col. 2, fytt, is a strain of 
music 

Fit, s. foot 

Fit, s. feet 

Fiveteen, fifteen 

Flayne, flayed 

Fits, p. fleece 

Ft*yk*, 134, a large kind of hur- 
dle. Cows are frequently 
milked in hovels made of fleykes 

Flindart, s. pieces, splinters 

Flotoan, a. flowing 

Ftyte, to contend with words, scold 

Foo, p. 9, col. 1 , foes 

Fond, contrive, also endeavour, fly 

Fonde, found 

For bode, commandment, p. 46, col 
2, 6 ver. Cod for bode, [Procter 
Dei preceptum ait] q. d. God 
forbid 

Fore*, no force, no matter 

Fttrced, regarded, heeded 

Forego*, quit, give up, resign 

Forewearied, much wearied 

Forfend, prevent, defend 

Forfend, avert, hinder 

For fought, overbought 

Formare, former 

For, on account of , 



Forted*, p. 25, coL t, regarded 
heeded 

Fort, I do no fort, I don't care 

Forst, heeded, regard* d 

Fortt, forced, compelled 

Forttert of the ft, p. 45, col. 2, 
foresters of the king's demesnes 

Fort, drunk 

For thy, therefore 

Forihynketh, p. 45, eo . 2, repent- 
eth, vexeth, troubleth 

Fou, Fow, s. full, also fuddled 

Fou, Fow, s. full. Item, drunk 

Fowarde, Vawarde, the van 

Forwatcht, overwatched, kept 
awake 

Fro*, s. fro, from 

Fro* they begin, from their be- 
ginning, From the time they 
begin 

Freak*, Freke, Freyke, man, person, 
human creature, also a whim or 
maggot 

Ereake, Freke, Freyke, man, human 
creature 

Fr*-bor*, p. 2\, col. 2, free-born 

Freekyt, p. 3, col. 2, persons 

Freitt, s. ill omens, ill luck, any 
old superstitious saw, or im- 
pression, p. 31. col. t 

An ingenious correspondent in the 

North thinks Freit is not an unlucky 

omen, but, "that thing which terrifies/' 

vis. Terrors will pursue them that look 

after frightful things. Fright is pro- 
nounced by the common people in the 
North Freet, p. 31, col. 3. 

Freer*, Fere, mate, companion 
Freet $ Fryart, friars, monks 

Freyke, humour, indulge, freak- 
ishly, capriciously 

Freyned, asked 

Frit s. Fre, free 

Fruward, forward 

Furth, forth 

Fuyson foyson, plenty, also sub- 
stance 

Fowkin, a cant word fbr a fart 

Fyert, (intro.) fierce 

F'yttkiU, fickle 

FyU, p. 2b, col. 1, fell 

Fyied, fyling, defiled, defiling 

Fyr, fire 

G 

Gaherhmti*, Gaberluny*, s. a wallet 

Gaberlunzie-man, s. a wallet-man, 
i. e. tinker, beggai 

Gad lings, gadders, idle fellows 

Gadryng, gathering 

Gat, s. gave 

Gae, Gaes, 8. go, goes 

Gaed, Gade, s. went 

Ga, Gait, s. go, goes 

Gair, a. geer, dress 

GaUiard, a sprightly kind of dance 

Gamon, p. 12, col. 2, to make 
game, to sport, a. s. Eamenian, 
jocari. Hence backgammon 

Gant, Gan, began 

Gant, a. gone 

Gang, s. go 



/ 



r 



GLOSSARY. 



Ganyde, p. 3, col. 9, gained 

Garde, Garred, made 

Gave, Gar, s. make, cause, force, 

compel 
Gargeyld, p. 97, col. 1, from Gar- 

gouille, f. the spout of a gutter. 

The tower was adorned with 

spouts cut in the figures of 

greyhounds, lions, &c. 
Gar, 8. to make, cause, &c. 
Garland, p. 23, col. 1, the ring 

within which the prick or mark 

was set to be shot at 
Gart, Garred, s. made 
Gayed, made gay (their clothes^ 
Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods, 

effects, stuff 
Gederede ye host, gathered his 

host 
Gef, Geve, give 
Geid, s. gave 
Geere will sway, this matter will 

tarn out, affair terminate. 
Gerte, (intro.) pierced 
Gett, act, feat, story, history, (it 

is jest in MS.) 
Getinge, what he had got, his 

plunder, booty 
Geve, Gevend, give, given 
Gibed, jeered 
Gie, Gien, s. give, given 
Giff. if 
Gxfe, Giff, if 
Gi, Gie, a. give 
Gillore, (Insh) plenty 
Gimp, Jimp, s. neat, slender 
Gin, s. an, if 

Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance 
Gins, begins 

Gip, an interjection of contempt 
Girt, 8. pierced, Thorough-girt 

pierced through 
Give owre, s. surrender 
Give, Gif, Giff, if 
Glaive, t. sword 

Gtede, p. 2, col. 2 , a red-hot coal 
Glee, merriment, joy 
Glen, s. a narrow valley 
Glente, glanced, slipt 
Glie, s. glee, merriment, joy 
Glist, s. glistered 
Glote, p. 25, col. 1, set a false 

gloss or colour 
Glowr, s. stare, or frown 
Gloze, canting dissimulation, fair 

outside 
Goddet, p. 26, col. 1, goddess 
Gode, (intro.) good 
Good, p. sc. a good deal 
Good-eens, good e'enings 
Gode, Godneu, good, goodness 
God before, i. e. God be thy guide, 

a form of blessing 
Goggling eyen, goggle eyes 
Gone, (intro.) go. 
Gorget, the dress of the neck 
Gotoan, a. the common yellow 

crow-foot, or goldcup 
Goivd, s. Gould, gold 
Gretne, scarlet 



Graithed gowden, s. was caparison- 
ed with gold 

Gramercye, i. e. I thank you, f. 
Grand-mercie 

Graunge, p. 77, col. 1 , granary, also 
a lone country house 

Graythed, s. decked, put on 

Grea-honde*, grey-hounds 

Greece, p. 44, col. 2, fat, (a fat 
hart) from f. graisse 

Greee, a step, p, 27, col. 2 , a flight 
of steps, Greet 

Gree, s. prize, a victory 

Greened, grew green 

Grennyng, p. 19, col. 2, grinning 

Greet, s. weep 

Gret, great, grieved, swoln, ready 
to burst 

Gret, Grat, great 

Grevet, Groves, bushes 

Groomet, attendants, servants 

Groundwa, ground wall 

Growende, Growynd, ground 

Grownet, grounds, (rythmi gratia. 
Vid. Sowne) 

Growte, in Nothamptonahire is a 
kind of small beer extracted 
from the malt after the strength 
has been drawn off. In Devon 
it is a kind of sweet ale medi- 
cated with eggs, said to be a 
Danish liquor. 
Growte is a kind of fare much vied 

by Danish sailor*, being boiled groats, 

(i. e. hailed oats) or else shelled b.irley, 

served op very thick, and baiter added 

to it. (Mr. Lambe). 

Grippel, griping, tenacious, mi- 
serly 

Grype, a griffin 

Griftely groned, p. 8, coL 2, dread- 
fully groaned 

Gode, Guid, Geud, s. good 

Guerdon, reward 

Gule, red 

Gybe, jest, joke 

Gyle, guile 

fy/ei, guiles 

Gyn, engine, contrivance 

Gyrd, girded, lashed 

Gyse, s. guise, form, fashion 

H 

Habbe ate he brew, have as he 

brews 
Habergeon, f. a lesser coat of mail 
Habte, p. 25, col. 1, able 
H a gg**» • sheep's stomach stuffed 
with a pudding made of mince- 
meat , &C. 
Ha, Hoe, s. have. Item, hall 
Ha, s. hall 

Ha, have. Ha, s. hall 
Hail, Hale, s. whole, altogether 
Hatched, Halted, saluted, embra- 
ced, fell on his neck, from halse, 
; the neck, throat 
• Halesome, wholesome, healthy 
j Halt, holdeth 

Home, Hamward, home, home- 
' ward 



Handbow, p. 47, col. 2, the lo^ 

bow, or common bow, as ci» 

tinguished from the cross-bow 
Han, have, 3 pers. plnr. 
Hare swerdes, their swords 
Haried, harried, haryed, harmrf! 

pp. 6, coL 2, 43, coL 1 , robhr-. 

pillaged, plundered. *■ He Lir 

ried a bird's nest." — Scot 
Harrowed, harmssed , disturbed 
Har Locke, p. 79* col. 2, perbsp. 

charlocke, or wild rape, whicl 

beers a yellow flower, at*. 

grows among corn, &c 
Harnmne, harness, armour 
Hartly lust, p. 26, col. 1. bearti 

desire 
Harwot, harrows 
Hastarddis, p. 25, col. 1, perbsp* 

hasty rash fellows, or upstart v 

qu. 
Hauld, s. to hold. Item, held. 

strong, bold 
Hauu-baue, a. the neck-bom. 

(halse-bone) a phrase for uV 

neck 
Haves, (of) effects, substance, 

riches 
Hav, have 
Havumr, behaviour 
Hawberk, a coat of mail consisting 

of iron rings, &c. 
Hawkm % synonymous to HaOcm, 

dimin. of Harry. 
Haylt, advantage, profit, (p. 7, 

col. 1, for the profit of all Eng- 
land,) a. a. Heel, sains 
Heal, p. 3, col. 2, hail 
Heart, here, hair 
Hear, p. 3, col. 2, here 
Heathenness, the heathen part of 

the world 
Hech, hatch, small door 
Hecht to lay thee law, a. promised 

engaged to lay tbee low 
Hede, Hied, he'd, he would, 

heed 
Hed, Hede, head 
Hee's, a. he shall, also he has 
He, p. 2, col. 9, Hee, p. 7, coL 1, 

Hye, high 
He, Hie, hasten 
He, p. 44, col. * , Hye, to hie or 

hasten 
Heicht, s. height 
Heiding-hill, s. the *heading (i. e. 

beheading) bill. The place of 

execution was anciently an arti- 
ficial hillock 
Heil, 8. hell, health 
Heir, s. here, p. 3, col. 1, hear 
Helen, heal 
Helpeth, help ye 
Hem, Em, them 
Henne, hence 
Henri, kind, gentle 
Heriu, (intro.) help, pulled 
Hent, Hente, held, laid hold o£ 

also received 
Heo, (intro.) they 



rtata^. 



GLOSSARY. 



Heere, p. 24, col. 1, hear 

Here, their, hear, hair 

Her, hare, their 

Herkneth, hearken ye 

Hert, Hertis, heart, hearts 

Hes. 8. has 
* Hest, hut 

F«t, p. 12, col. 2, command, in- 
junction 

Hett, Hight, bid, call, command 

Het, hot 

//?«/wr, hither 

H ether, a. heath, a low shrub that 
grows upon the moors, &c so 
luxuriantly as to choak the 
grass, to prevent which the in- 
habitants set whole acres of it 
on fire, the rapidity of which 
gave the poet that apt and noble 
simile, in p. (Mr. Hutchinson.) 

Heuch, s. a rock or steep hill 

Hevede, Hevedest, had, hadst 

Heveriche, Hevenrich, heavenly 

Hewkes, heralds' coats 

Hewyne in to, hewn in two 

Hewyng, Hewinge, hewing, hack- 
ing 

Hey-day guiie, frolick, sportive 
frolicksome manner 

This word it perhaps corruptly 
given, being apparently toe him with 
Heydeguiks, or Hzydsguivss, which 
occurs in Spenser, and means a " wild 
frolick dance."— Johnson's Dictionary. 

Heynd, Hend, gentle, obliging 

Heyre, high, Heyd, s. hied 

Hicht, A-kicht, s. on height 

Hie dame* to wail, s. high (or 
great) ladies to wail, or, has- 
ten, ladies, to wail, &c. 

Hie, Hye, He, Hee % high 

Hight, p. 13, col. 1, p. 3, col. 2, 
engage, engaged, promised, 
p. 40, col. 1, named, called 

Hi, Hie. p. 21, col. 1, he 

Hilly,, hills 

Hilt, taken off, flayed, Sax.hylden 

H inch-boys, Hench, properly 
haunch-men, pages of honour, 
pages attending on persons of 
office 

Hind, s. behind 

Hinde, Hend, gentle 

Hingt, s. hangs 

Hinny, s. hooey 

Hip, Hep, the berry which con- 
tains the stones or seeds of the 
dog-rose 

Hir, Hit lane, s. her, herself alone 

Hirsel, s. herself 

Hit, p. 3, col. 2, it 

Hit, it, Hit be write, it be written 

Hade, hood, cap 

Hoo, ho, p. 6, col. l,an interjection 
of stopping or desisting, hence 
stoppage 

Holten, probably a corruption for 
holly 

Holden, bold 



Hole, whole. HoU 9 idem 

Hooly. s. slowly 

Holies, woods, groves/ p. 7, coL 1, 

in Norfolk a plantation of 

cherry trees, is called a "cherry 

holt," also sometimes " bills. 
Holtes seems evidently to signify 
hills in the following passage from Tu- 
bcrvUle's " Songs and Sonnets," l2mo, 
1367. fol. 50. 
u Yee that frequent the Miles, 
And highest Holtks of all, 
Assist me with your skilful quilles, 
And listen when I call." 
As also in this other verse of an ancient 
poet, 
" Underneath the Holtes so boar." 

Hohit hair, s. hoar hills 

Holy-roode, holy cross 

Holy, p. 26, col. 1, wholly, or per- 
haps hole, whole 

Horn, Hem, them 

Honden wrynge, hands wring 

Hondridth, Hondred, hundred 

Hone, hand 

Honge, hang, hung 

Hontyng, hunting 

Hop-halt, limping, hopping, and 
halting 

Hose, stockings 

Hount, hunt 

Howie, give the sacrament 

Hoved, p. 27, col. 1, heaved, or 
perhaps hovered (p. 7, col. 1,) 
hung moving, (Gl. Chauc.) 
Hoved or hoven means in the 
North swelled. But Mr. 
Lambe thinks it is the same as 
houd, still used in the North, 
and applied to any light sub- 
stance heaving to and from an 
und ulating surface. The vowel 
u is often used there for the 
consonant v 

Howeret, Howen, hours 

Huerte, heart 

Huggle, hug, clasp 

Hye, Hyest, high, highest 

Hyghte, p. 8, col. 1, on high, 
aloud 

Hyp-halt, lame in the bip 

Hyndattowre, s. behind, over, or 
about 

Hys, his, also is 

Hyt, (intro.) it 

Hysnes, highness 



Ich, I, Teh biqneth, I bequeath 
I clipped, called 

if, a 

Ftere, to gather 

Tfeth, in faith 

Jlfardly, s. ill favoured, uglily 

lid, I'd, I would 

He, I'll, I will 

Ilka, s. each, every one 

like, every Ilk, every one 

Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same 

Ilk one, each one 

I -lore, lost, I -strike, stricken 

Im, p. 21, col. l,him 



Impe, a little demon 

In fere, I fere, to gather 

Ingle, s. fire 

Inowe, enough 

Into, s. in 

Iniret, p. 27, col. 2, entrance, ad 
mittance 

Jo forth, corruptly printed so. 
should probably be loo, i. e. 
halloo 

Ireful, angry, furious 

lie, I shall 

Is, p. 21, col. 1, is, bis 

I trowe, (1 believe) verily 

Its neir, s. it shall ne'er 

I -tuned, tuned 

I-toeen, (1 think) verily 

/ wisse, (I know) verily 

I wot, (I know) verily 

J wys, I wis, (I know) verily 

lye, eye 

J anglers, talkative persons, tell- 
tales, also wranglers 

Jenkin, diminutive of John 

Jimp, s, slender 

Jogelers, p. 3d, col. 1, jugglers 

Jo, s. sweet- heart, friend. Jo is 
properly the contraction of joy, 
so rejoice is written rejoce in 
old Scottish MSS. particularly 
Banatyne's — passim 

Jaw, s. joll or jowl 

Jupe, a. an upper garment, fr. a 
petticoat 



Kail, p. 26, col. 2, call 

Kame, a. comb 

Kameing, s. combing 

Kan, p. 25, col. 2. can 

Kantle-piece, corner 

Karls, carls, churls, Karlis of kynd, 
p. 25, col. 1, churls by nature 

Kauk, s. chalk 

KauUd, p. 21, col. 1, called 

Kawte and keens, p. 7, col. 2, cau- 
tious and active. 1. cautus 

Keipand, s. keeping 

Keel, b. raddle 

Kempes, soldiers, warriors 

Kemperye-man, p. 18, col. 2, sol- 
dier, warrior, fighting-man 

" Germanis camp, exercitum, aut lo- 
cum ubi exercitus castrametatur, siguifi- 
cai : inde ipsis vir Casirensis, et mill- 
tarls kemffer, et kempher, et kemper, et 
lumber, et /tamper, pro varietate diatecto- 
rum, vocatur. Yocabulnm hue nostro 
sermone nondom penitus exolevit: 
Norfolcienses enim pie beta, et proleta- 
rlo sermone d leant." He U a kemper 
old man, i. e. "Senex vegctus est." 
" Hinc Cimbris suum nomen; M Kimber 
enum homo bellicosus pugil, robustus 
miles, Sec, signiflcat." Sheringham d* 
Anglor. gentis orig. pag. 67. Rectius an 
tem Laxius [apod enndem, p. 40]. "dm 
broe a beilo quod hamff, ct Saxonice 
kamp, nuncupatos crediderim, undr 
bellatores virt die kempffer, die kemper,*' 



Kempt) combed 
Kerns, s. combs 
Kend, 8. knew 



300 



GLOSSARY. 



Ken, Kentt, know, knowest 

Kent, keen 

Keep*, p. 80, col. 2, care, heed. 
So in the old play of Hick 
Scorner (in the last leaf but 
one), "Ikeepe not to clymbe 
so bye," i. e. I study not, care 
not, &c. 

Kepert, Sec, p. 47, col. 2, those 
that watch by the corpse shall 
tye up my winding-sheet 

Kever-chefu, handkerchiefs, (rid. 
in trod.) 

Kid, Kyd, Kith*, made known, 
shown 

Kilted, s. tucked up 

Kind, Kindt, nature, p. to earp is 
our kind, it is natural for us to 
talk of 

Kirk, s. church 

Kirk-tM, s. p. church wall, or per- 
haps church-yard-wall 

Kirm, s. churn 

Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown 

Kists, s. chests 

Kit, p. 26, col. 1, cut 

Kith and kin, acquaintance and 
kindred 

Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor 
kindred 

Knave, p. 23, col. 2, servant 

KnelLtn, Knelland, s. knelling, 
ringing the knell 

Knicht, s. knight 

Knights fee. such a portion of land 
as required the possessor to 
serve with man and horse 

Knowles, Knolls, little hills 

Knyled, knelt 

Kowarde, coward 

Kowe, cow 

Kurteis, p. 26, col. 1, courteous 

Kuntrey, p. 26, col. 1, countrey 

Kj/the, appear, also make appear, 
shew, declare 

Kythed, a. appeared 

Kyrtell, vid. Kirtle, In the introd. 
it signifies a man's under gar- 
ment 

Rale, In bii Actetof English Votaries, 
(tnd part, fol. 53), uses the word K.TR- 
tli to signify a Monk's Frock. He 
lays Roger Earl of Shrewsbnry, when 
he was dying, seut " to Cloovake, in 
France, for the Kybtlb of Hugh the 
Abbot there/' &c 

Kye, Kine, cows 



Lack*, want 

Laid* unto her, imputed to her 

Laith, s. loth 

Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous 

Lambs-wool, a cant phrase for ale 

and roasted apples, p. 
Lan*, Lain, 8. lone. Her lane, 

alone by herself 
Lang, s. long 
Langsome, s. p 89, col. 2, long, 

tedious 
Lap, s. leaped 



Largesse, f. gift, liberality 

Lots*, less 

Lauch, lauened, a, laugh, laughed 

Launde, p. 44, col. 9, lawn 

Layden, laid 

Laye, p. 12, col. 2, law 

Lap-land, p. 12, col. 2, land that 

is not plowed, green-sward 
Lay-lands, p. 14, col. 1, lands in 

general 
Layne, lain. Vid. Leon* 
Layne, lien, also laid 
Leal, Led, s. loyal, honest, true, 

f. loyal 
Leant, p. 8, col. 1, conceal, hide. 

Item, lye, (query) 
Leanyde, leaned 1 
Ltarnd, learned, taught 
Lease, p. 44, col. 2, lying, false- 
hood. Withouten lease, verily 
Leasunge, lying, falshood 
Leecke, physician 
Lsecfa'itft.doctoring, medicinal care 
Leffe (Introd.) Leefe, dear 
Ltfe, p. 45, col. 2, Leeat, dear 
Leid, s. lyed 

Leiman, Leman, lover, mistress 
Lew, a. here, learn 
Leive, s. leave 
Leek, phrase of contempt 
Lea, lea, field, pasture 
Lee, p. 31, coL 2, lea, the field 
Lee, e. lie 
Lemman, lover 
Leman, teaman, leiman, lover, 

mistress, a. s. lemman 
Lenger, longer 
Lengeth in, resideth in 
Leer, p. 85, col. 1, look 
Lere, p. 14, col. 1, race, complex- 
ion, a. s. hleajie, facies, vultus 
Lemed, learned, taught 
Leete, s. lose 
Lett, Latte, hinder, slacken, 

leave off, Late, let 
LetUst, hinderest, detaineat 
Let, n. 2, coL 1, hinder, p. 18, coi. 

1, hindred 
Lettyng, hindrance, is. without 

delay 
Leueh, Leugh, s. laughed 
Lute London, p. 73, col. 1, dear 

London, an old phrase 
Leeveth, believeth 
Lever, rather 
Levet and Bowes, leaves and 

boughs 
Lewd, ignorant, scandalous 
Ltyke, Like, play 
Leyre, lere, p. 79, col. 2, learning, 

lore 
Libbards-bane, a herb so called 
Libbard, leopard 

Lichtly, a. lightly, easily, nimbly 
Lie, a-. Lee, field, plain 
Uege-ihen, vassals, subjects 
Lig, s. lie 
Lightly, easily 

Lightsome, cheerful, sprightly 
Liked, p. 80, coL 1, pleased 



LimUmtrt, friars licensed to beg 
within certain limits) 

IMniiaeioune, a certain precinct 
allowed to a limitour 

Lingell, a thread of hemp rubbed 
with rosin, &c, used by rustic* 
for mending their shoes 

Ltre, flesh, complexion 

Lith, Lithe, Lythe, p. 40, coL2, 
attend, hearken, listen 

Lither, p. 18, col. 2, idle, worth- 
leas, naughty, froward 

Liver, deliver 

Liverance, p. 74, col. 2, deliver- 
ance, (money, or a pledge, lor 
delivering yon up) 

Lodlye, loathsome. Vid. Lotkly 

Lo'e, hoed, s. love, loved 

Lought, Lowe, Lugh, laughed 

Loo, halloo ! 

Lokt, .... (Ballad 1. ver. 45) 

Lake, p. 80, col. 1, lock of wool 

Longee, belongs 

Lope, leaped 

Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless 
person 

Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning 

Lore, lost 

Looeet, loaed, loosed 

Lothly, (vide Lodly*,) loathsome 

The adverbial tenniaatkms sons 
and lv were applied iadiaTerently by 
oar old writers: thus as we have Lothly 
for loathsome, so we have Ucsoss ia 
a sense not very remote from Uptj, ia 
Loan Surrey's Version of JEmtiA, 11. 
vis. " la every place the aansii eights 
I saw." 

Loud and still, phrase, at all times 

Lough, p. 44, col. 1, laugh 

Louked, looked 

Lounge, (Introd.) lung 

Loun, s. p. 83, ooL «, Lown, p. 
5S, col. f , Lo*m, rascal, from 
the Irish, Liun, slothful, slug- 
gish 

Lourd, Lour, a. Lever, bad rather 

Loused, Lowtede, lowed, did obei- 
sance 

Loveth, love, plural number 

Lows, p. S3, col. t , a little hill 

Lowns, s. biases, rather opposed 
to windy, boisterous 

Lowte, Lout, bow, stoop 

Lude. Luid, Luhet, a, loved 

Lurf, love 

Lues, Luve, a. loves, love 

Luicks, s. looks 

Lurden, p. 43, coL 1, Lurdeyne, 
sluggard, drone 

Lyan, Lyand, s. lying 

Lyard, grey, a name given to a 
horse from its grey colour, ss 
Bayard, from bay 

Lynde, p. p. 44, col. 1, 44, col. 9, 
Lyne, p. S3, col. 1. See Lind* 

Lynde, p. 44, col. S, the lime tree, 
or collectively lime trees, or 
trees in general 

Lys, lies 

Lyttenyth, (Introd.) listen 



ULOJvSAKY 



30 



Lyth p. 79. coL 2, Lythe, Lyih- 
some, pliant, flexible, easy, 
gentle 

Ltiveu na More, life no mor e,no 
longer 

Lyu, light 

M 

Maden, made 

Mahound, Mahowne, Mahomet 

Mair, a. Mart, more 

Mait, a. might 

Majeste, Mate, Mayeste, may'at 

Making, ao. verses, versifying 

Makyt, Makes, matea 

A* the word* make and male were 
in tome cases used promiscuously by 
ancient writers ; so the words cake and 
rate wein to have been applied with 
the si me lndiffcrency : this will illus- 
trate that common English Proverb, 
" to turn C«t (1. e. Cate) In pan." A 
Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still 
called a Pan-cate. ~* 

Male, p. 3, col. S, coat of mail 

Mane, p. 3, col, 1, man. Item 
moan 

Mane, Mairdng, a. moan, moaning 

Mangonel, an engine need for dis- 
charging great atooea, arrows, 
etc. before the invention of gun* 
powder 

March perU, p. 4, col. 2, in the 
parte lying upon the marches 

March-pine, p. 79, ooi. 2, March- 
pant, a kind of biscuit 

Margarite, a pearl, 1. 

Marrow, a. equal 

Mark, a coin, in value 13s, 4d. 

Mart, g. marred, hurt, damaged 

Matt, Matte, may'at . 

Matterye, p. 22, col. 2, Maytttry, 
p. 46, col. 1, a trial of skill, 
high proof of skill 

Maugre, spite of, ill will (I in- 
cur) 

Maugre, in spite of 

Manger, Maugre, spite of 

Maun, s. mutt 

Maun, a. Mun, must 

Mai is, s. a thrush 

Afflict, a. malt 

Mayd, Mayde, maid 

Maye, p. 8, col. 1, maid, (rhythmi 
gratia) 

Mayne, p. 14, col. 2, force, 
strength, p. 22, col. 1, horse's 
mane 

Mate, a labyrinth, any thing en- 
tangled or intricate 

On the top of Catherine-Hill, Win- 
chester, (the usual play-place of the 
school,) was a very perplexed and 
winding path running in a very small 
space over a great deal of ground, 
called a Mix- Mace. The senior boys 
obliged the janlors to tread it, to pre- 
vent the figure from being lost, as I 
am informed by an ingenious corre- 
spondent. . 

Mean, moderate, middle aiied 



Meantf, retinue, train, company 

Meed] Mitdt, reward 

Meid, a. inuod 

Meiie, s. soften, reduce, mitigate 

Meit, a. Meet, fit, proper 

Melt, honey ; also, meddle, min- 

Me, men, Me con (men *gan) 
Men of armet, p. 8, coL 1, gens 

d' armea 
Meniveere, a species of fur 
Menee tne fought, s. p. measure the 
battle. To give to the menae, 
is to give above the measure. 
Twelve, and one to the menae, 
is common with children in 



their play 
Mi 
pany 



Mentie, a. Meaney, retinue, com- 



Merchet, marches 

Mettager, f. messenger 

Me-thunketh, methinks 

Met, Meit, a. Mete, meet, fit, proper 

Meyni. See Meany 

Mickle, much, great 

Micht, might 

Midge, a small insect, a kind of 

Mieihtte, mighty 

Minged, p, 12, coL t, mentioned 

Mimty, a. mother 

Minstral, a. minstrel, musician, &c* 

Minstrelsie, music 

Mh-ke, s. dark, black 

Mirkie, dark, black 

Mtrry, a. Meri, merry 

Misdoubt, p. 78, col. 1, suspect, 
doubt 

Mitcreants, unbelievers 

Mishap, misfortune 

Miskaryed, miscarried 

Muken, mistake, also, in the Scot- 
tish idiom, " let a thing alone." 
(Mr. Lambe) 

Mi tier, s. to need 

Mither, a. mother 

Mode, p. 44, col. 1, mood 

Mt'ienit'g, by means of, f. 

Mold, mould, ground 

Mo, Moe, more 

Mome, a dull stupid person 

Mtmand, moaning, bemoaning 

Mone, moon 

Men, a. month 

Monynday, Monday 

More, originally and properly sig- 
nified a hill, (from a. a. moji, 
mons,) bnt tne bills of the 
North being generally full of 
bogs, a Moor came to signify 
boggy marshy ground, in ge- 
neral 
Mores, p. 12, col. 1, bills, wild 

downs 
Morroumunges, mornings 
Morne, To mom, to-morrow in the 

morning 
Morne, a. p. 20, col. 2, on the 

morrow 
Momyng, mourning 



Mart* death of the deer 

Mattes, swampy grounds, covered 

with peat moss 
Most, must 

Mote I thee, might I thrive 
Mought, mot, mote, might 
Move, may, Mou. a. mouth 
Muchele bost, Mickle boost, great 

boast 
Mud*, a. mood 
Maine, mill 
Mun, Maun, a. must 
Mure, Mures, a. wild downs, 

heaths, &c. 
Mume, Murnt, Muming, a. mourn, 

mourned, mourning 
Musis, muses 
Myllan, Milan steel 
Myne-ye-ple, p. 3, col. 2, perhaps, 

many plies, or folds, Monyole 

is still used in this sense in the 

North. (Mr. Lambe) 
Myrry, merry 
Myturyd, p. 25, coL 2, misused, 

applied to a bad purpose 
Must, Mytty, might, mighty 

N 

Naithing, a. nothing 

Name, names 

Na, Nae, s. no, none 

None, a. none 

Nar, p. 2, col. 2, Nare, nor. Item, 

than 
Nathelas, nevertheless 
Nat, not 

A r «ir, s. A T er, Nere, ne'er, never 
Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle 
Neatherd, a keeper of cattle 
A'eafrepe, a female keeper of cattle 
Neigh him neare, approach him 

near 
Nee, Ne, nigh 
Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never 
Nere ne were, were it not for 
Nei*t, Nyett, next, nearest 
Newjangle, Newfangled, fond of 

novelty, of new fashions, &o. 
Nicktd him of vcufe, p. 17, col. 1, 

nicked him with a refusal 
Nicht, s. night 
Nipt, pinched 
Nfble, a gold coin, in value SO 

groats, or 6a. 8d. 
Nobles, p. 25, col. 1, Noblesse, ao* 

bleneaa 
Nollyt, noddles, heads 
Norn, took, Nome, name 
Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for 

the occasion 
Nan, none, No»e, noon 
Norland, a. northern 
Norse, a.' Norway 
•North-gales, North Wales 
Non, now 
Nourice, a. nurse 
Nout, Nocht, s. nought, also not, 

seems for * ne mought' 
Nowght, nought 



sot 



GLOSSARV. 



Notcls, noddles, heads 
Nmje, v. 175, annoy, query 
Nozt, nought, not 
Nurtured, educated, hred up 
Nye, Ny, nigh 
Ny%t t night 

O 

braid, s. upbraid 

Ocht, 8. ought 

Oferlyng, auperior, paramount, 
opposed to underling 

O gin, s. O \f, a phrase 

Onfoughten, Unjoughten, unfought 

On-laft, aloft 

On, one, an 

On, one, On man, p. 3, col. l,one 
man 

One, on 

Ony, a. any 

Onys, once 

Or, Ere, before ; or seems to 
hare the force of the Latin vet 
and to signify even 

Or-cre pp. 6, col. 1, 7, col. 1, be- 
fore 

Or-eir, before ever 

Orisons, a. prayers, f. obaisons 

Ost, Oste, Oast, host. 

Ou, Oure, you, your. Ibid., our 

Out alas! exclamation of grief 

Out-brayde, drew out, unsheathed 

Out-horn, the summoning to arms 
by the sound of a born 

Out ouer, s. quite over, over 

Outrake, p. 75, col. 2, an out-ride 
or expedition. To mile, s. is to 
go fast. Outrake is a common 
term among shepherds. When 
their sheep have a free passage 
from inclosed pastures into 
open and airy grounds they 
call it a good outrake. (Mr. 
Lambe). 

Oware of none, hour of noon 

Owches, bosses or buttons of gold 

Owene, Atren, Ain,s. own 

Oure, Owr, s. o'er 

Oure, s. over 

Ovate ward, s, the last word, the 
burthen of a song 

Oat, out 



Pall, a cloak or mantle of state 
PaUe, a robe of state. Purple and 
pall, i. e. a purple robe or cloak, 
a phrase 
Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having 
been at the Holy Land, carried 
a palm branch in his hand. 
Paramour, lover. Item, a mistress 
Parde, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu 
Paregall, equal 
Partake, participate, assign to 
Parti, party, p. 3, col. 1, a part 
Pattering, murmuring, mumbling, 
from the manner in which the 
Paternoster was anciently hur- 



ried over, in a low, inarticulate 
voice 

Pa, s. the river Po 

Pauky, s. shrewd, cunning, sly, 
or saucy, insolent 

Panes, p. 25, col. 1, a pavice, a 
large shield that covered the 
whole body, f. pauvois 

PaviUiane, pavillion, tent 

Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence 
well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly 
satisfied 

Paynim, pagan 

PeukUh, p. 77, col 1 

Pearlins, a coarse sort of bone- 
lace 

Pece, Piece, sc, of cannon 

Pels, a baker's peel 

Penan, a banner or streamer, borne 
at the top of a lance 

' Pentarchye of Unset, five tenses 

Perchmine, f. parchment 

P*reJ0ia,par&>tu, perilous, danger- 
ous 

Per fay, verily, f. par foy 

Peere, Pere, Peer, equal 

Peer, Peer ins, equal, without 
equal 

P^fight, perfect 

Peering, peeping, looking nar- 
rowly 

PeriU, danger 

Perkin, diminutive of Peter 

Perlete, p. 26, coL 2, peerless 

Pees, Pete, peace 

PersU, Peareed, pierced 

Perte, part 

Pertyd, parted 

Petye, pity 

Peyn, pain 

Fhilosune, Philomel, the nightin- 
gale 

Pibrochs, 8. Highland war-tunes 

Piece, s. a little 

Pig hi, Pygfit, pitched 

PU'd p. 76, col. 1, peeled, bald 

Pine, famish, starve 

Pious chanson, p. 48, col. 1, a 
godly song, or ballad 

Mr. Howe's Edit has "The first row 
of the ftabrick," which has been rap- 
posed by Dr. Warburton (o refer to 
the red-lettered titles of old Ballads. 
In the large collection made by Mr. 
Pepyj, I do not remember to have teen 
one single ballad with its title printed 
in red letters, 

Pite, Pittye, Pyte, pity 

Plains, complaint 

Plaining, complaining 

Playand, s. playing 

Play-feres, playfellows 

Pleasance, pleasure 

Plein, complain 

Plett, s. platted 

PlowmeU, a small wooden hammer 
occasionally fixed to the plow, 
still used in the North ; in the 
Midland counties in its stead is 
used a plow-hatchet 



Plytt, plight 

Ploll-cat, a cant word for a whore 
PoUys, PowUs, Pedis, head 
Pompal, p. 61, coL t, po mp o us 
Pandered, a term in Heraldry, for 

sprinkled over 
Popingay, a parrot 
Porcupig, porcupine, f. porcepig 
Parterner, perhaps pocket or pooch. 

Pautoniere in fr. is a shepherd's 

scrip (vide Col grave) 
Portres, p. 27, coL 1, porteress 
Pawllt, polls, head 
Pownnes, p. 77, coL 1, pounds, 

(rbythmi gratia) 
Pew, Pan, Pawed, s. poll, polled 
Preas, Prese, press 
Preced, p. 45, col. 1* pressed, 

Presed 
Prest, f. ready 
Prettly, p. 45, col. 1, Prcstlye, p. 

14, col. 1, readily, quickly 
Pricked, spurred forward, travelled 

a good round pace 
Priehe-wand, p. 23, coL 1, a wand 

set up for a mark 
Pricket, p. 22, coL 2, the mark to 

shoot at 
Priefe, prove 

Pricing, s. proving, fasting 
Prove, proof 
Prowess, bravery, valor, military 

gallantry 
Proves, p. 25, coL 1, p rowess 
Prude, pride. Item, proud 
Pryke, p. 46, col. 1, the mark, 

commonly a haale wand 
Pryme, daybreak 
Puing, a. pulling 
Puissant, strong, powerful 
Pulde, pulled 
Purchased, procured 
Purfel, an ornament of embroid- 
ery 
Purfelled, embroidered 
Purvayed, provided 

Q 

Quadrant, p. 27. col. 1, four-squars 
Quail, shrink, flinch, yield 
Quaint, cunning, nice, fantastical 
Quarry, p. 67, col. 1, in hunting 

or hawking is the slaughtered 

game, Ace. 
Quat 9 s. quitted 
Quay, Quhey, s. a young heifer. 

called a Whie in Yorkshire 
Quean, so r ry, base woman 
Quell, subdue, also kill 
Quel, cruel, murderous 
Quelch, a blow or bang 
Quere, quire, choir 
Quest, p. 43, col. 1, inquest 
Quha, 8. who 
Quhair, s. where 
Quhar, s. where 
Quhan, Whan, s. when 
Quhaneer, s. whene'er 
Quhatten, s. what 
Quhat,*. what 



\ 



GLOSSARY. 



903 



Quhen, s. when 

Quhy, s. why 

Quick, alive, living 

Quillets, quibbles, l.quidlibet 

Quitt, requite 

Quo, quoth 

QuyU, s. while 

Qnyrry, p. 2, col. 2, See Quarry 

above 
QuyU, p. 4, col. 2, requited 
Quyt, 8. quite 
Qwyknit, s. quickened, restored to 

life 

It 

Bade, 8. rode 

7?a«, a roe 

Raik, 8. to go a-poce, Raik on 
raw, go fast in a row 

Ratne, reign 

Raise, s. rose 

Ranted, s. were merry. Vide 
Gloss, to Gentle Shepherd 

Rashing, seems to be the old 
hunting term for the stroke 
made by a wild boar with his 
fangs. See p. 54, col. 2 

Bought, reached, gained, obtained 

Raytie, reane, rain 

Raysse, race 

Rait, Raught, or self-bereft 

Reachles, careless 

Reade, p. 6, coL 2, Rede, advise, 
hit off 

Read, advice 

Rea'me, Reaume, realm 

Reas, p. 2, col. 2, raise 

Reave, bereave 

Reckt, regarded 

Rede, Read, advise, advice 

Rede, Rctlde, read 

Redresse, care, labour 

Reft, bereave, or perhaps Rice, 
split 

Refe, Reve, Reeve, bailiff 

Reft, bereft 

Register, the officer who keeps the 
public register 

Reid, 8. advise 

Re id, s. reed, Rede, red 

Reidroan, s. red-roan, p. 15, col. 1 

Reek, s. smoke 

Rekeles, Recklesse, regardless, void 
of care, rash 

Remeid, s. remedy 

Renneth, Retming, runneth, run- 
ning 

Renn, run, p. 51, col. 2 

Renisli, p. 16, col. 2, Renisnt, p. 
18, col. 1, perhaps a derivation 
from Reniteo, to shine 

Renyed, p. 25, col. 2, refused 

Rescous, rescues 

Reeve, bailiff 

Reve, bereave, deprive 

Revert, s. robbers, pirates, rovers 

Reweth, regrets, has reason to re- 
pent 

Rw, s. take pity 

Hewth, ruth, Reve, pity 



Ryall, Ryal, royal 

Richt, 8. right 

Riddle, seems to be a vulgar idiom 
for unriddle ; or is perhaps 
a corruption of reade, i. e. ad- 
vise 

Ride, make an inroad 

Rin, a. run. Rin my errand, a con- 
tracted way of speaking for 
" run on my errand." The 
pronoun is omitted. So the 
French say faire message 

Rise, shoot, bush, shrub 

Rive, rife, abounding 

Roche, roclc 

Roode-cross, crucifix 

Rood-loft, the place in the church 
where the images were set 
up 

Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix 

Ronne, ran, Room, p. 7, col .l,run 

Roufe, roof 

Route, go about, travel 

Routhe, ruth, pity 

Rowned, Rowayd, whispered 

Row, Rowd, a. roil, rolled 

Rowyned, round 

Rowght, rout 

Rudd, ruddiness, complexion 

Rude, s. Rood, cross 

RuelUbones, perhaps bones divers- 
ly colored, f. Rule, or perhaps 
small bone rings from the C 
rouelle, a small, ring or hoop. — 
Cotgrave's Diet. 

Rues, Rwethe, pitieth 

Rugged, pulled with violence 

Rushy, should be Rashy gair, 
rushy stuff, ground co vexed with 
rushes 

Ruthful, rueful, woful 

Ruth, pity 

Ruthe, pity, woe 

Rydere, p. 46, col. 2, ranger 

Ryde, p. 72, col. 1, i. «•• make an 
inroad, Rude, in p. 17, col. 2, 
(ver. 136), should probably be 
rise 

Rynde, p. 8, col. 1, rent 

Ryschys, rushes 

Rywe, rue 

Ryxt, right 

S 

Safer, sapphyre 

Soft, s. soft 

Saif, s. safe 

Sat*; a. sore 

Saim, 8. same 

Salt, s. fehull 

Saif, s. save, Savely, safely 

Saisede. seized 

Sark, fthirt, shift 

Sar, Sair, s. sore 

Sa, Sae, 8. so 

Sat, Sete, set 

Saut, s. salt 

Savyde, saved 

Saw, Say, speech, discourse 

Say, A*soy, attempt 



Say, saw 

Say us no harm, say no ill of us 

Sayne, say 

Scant, scarce. Item scantiness 

Schall, shall 

Schapped, p. 8, col. 1, perhaps 
swapped. Vjd. loc. 

Schattered, shattered 

Schaw, a. show 

Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also 
brightness 

Sehip, s. ship 

Schiples, s. shipless 

Scho, p. 10, col, 2, Sche, p. 7, col. 
1, s. she 

Schone, shone 

Schoote, shot, let go 

Schowte, Sehowtte, shout 

SchriU, 8. shrill 

Schuke, 8. shook 

&fer, slate, little table-book of 
slates to write upon 

Scornfit, discomfit 

Scot, tax, revenue, a year's tax of 
the kingdom, also shot, reckon- 
ing 

Scathe, hurt, injury 

Sed, said 

Seik, s. Seke, s. seek 

&fc, sack 

&J, Sell, self 

Ss/twr, Stffer, silver 

Seneschall, steward 

Sene, seen 

5m v s. since 

Senvy, mustard seed, f. senvie 

Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, cor 
tainly 

See, Sew, s. sea, seas 

Se, Sene, Seym*, see, seen, seeing 

Seething, boiling 

Seetywall, see Cetywall 

Seoe, seven 

Sey you, say to, tell you 

Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen 
stuff 

Seyd, s. saw 

Slave, Be shave, be shaven 

Shatos, little woods 

Shear, p. 2, col. 2, entirely, (peni- 
tus) 

Sheele,She% she will 

Sheene, Skene, shining 

Sfc'tt; Shetes, 8. sheets 

Shee's, she shall 

Sheene, shining 

Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused 

Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses, 
sheep-pens, a. s. Scypen 

Sheeve, Shive, a great slice or lun- 
cheon of bread 

Shield-bone, the blade bone, a com- 
mon phrase in the north 

Shimmered, s. glittered 

Shimmering, shining by glances 

Shirt of male or mail, wt s a garment 
for defence, made all of ring's of 
iron, worn under the coat. Ac- 
cording to some the hauberk 
was fu> formed 




Shorn, s. Shame, p. 64, col. 1, 

shoes 
Shake, p. 25, col. 2, shookest 
Shold, Shotde, should 
Shape, shaped 
Saojm, betook me 
Short* , s. shorten 
Sho, Scho, s. she 
Sftote, shot 

Shraddt, p. 21 , col. 2. Vid. locum 
Shread, cut into small pieces 
SArsetvji Shriven, confessed her 



Stow, a bad, an ill-tempered per- 
son 

Shreward, a male shrew 

Shrift, confession 

Shrwe, confess. Item, hear con- 
fession 

Shroggt, shrubs, thorns, briars. 
G. Doug. Seraggit 

ShuiUn, shall 

Shutde, should 

Shunted, shunned 

Shurting, recreation, diversion, 
pastime. Vid. Gawin Douglas's 
Gloss. 

Shyart, shires 

Shynand, s. shining 

Sib, kin, akin, related 

Sick, Sic, s. such, Sieh, s. sigh 

Sick-like, s. such like 

Side, 8. long 

Sied, s. saw 

Sigh-clout, p. 52, col. 1, (Sytho- 
clout), a clout to strain milk 
through, a straining clout 

Sighan, Sighand, s. sighing 

SUt, SUce, such 

Siker, surely, certainly 

Siller , s. silver 

Siudle, s. seldom 

Sitteth, sit ye 

Si(A, p. 2, col. 2, since 

Skaith, Scath, harm, mischief 

oTtalfc, perhaps from the Germ. 
Schalck, malicious, perverse 
(Sic Dan. Skalek nequitia, 
malicia, occ Sheringham de 
Ang. Orig. p. 318); or per- 
haps from the Germ. Schalcheu, 
to squint. Hence our northern 
wooa Skelly 9 to squint 

Skinker, one that serves drink 

Skinkled, s. glittered 

Skomfit, discomfit 

Skott, shot, reckoning 

Slade, a breadth of greensward 
between plow-lands or woods, 
etc. 

Slaited, s. whetted, or perhaps 

- wiped 

Stuttered, slit, broke into splinters 

Slaw, slew, p. 80, col. 1, (Sc. 
Abel) 

Slean, Slant, slain 

Sleath, slayeth 

Site, s. slay, also sly 

Sle, Sim, Sisy, Slo, slay, Sleett, 
slayert 



Steip, s. Slepe, sleep 

Siode, p. 12, col. 2, slit, split 

Stone, p. 13, coL 1, slain 

Sfa, p. 25, coL 1, Sim, slay 

Slovrhe, p. 3, col. 1 , slew 

Smitkert, s. smothers 

Sna*, Snow, s. snow 

Soil, SauUe, SomU, soul 

Soidain, Soidan, Sowdan, sultan 

Spun, s. Son, sun 

Sond, a present, a sending 

Sons, soon 

Sort, company 

Soothly, truly 

Stan, truth, true 

Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Sooth, 
truth 

Soth-Ynglonde, South England 

Soiuian, Souda'm, sultsn 

Souldan, Soidan, Sowdan, sultan 

Sould, s. SiiW, should 

Smiting, victualling. Sotp/t is 
still used in the north for 
any thing eaten with bread; 
a. a. auple, suple, Job. xxi. 5, 
(or to towle, may be from the 
French word saouler, ■* to stuff 
and cram, to glut." Vid. Cot- 
grsTe) 

Sowden, Sowdam, sultan 

Some, sound (rhyt. gr.) 

Sowre, sour 

Sowre, Soars, sore 

Sorter, p. 19, col. 2, shoemaker 

Soy, f. silk 

Spak, Spaik, ft. spake 

Speere. Vide locum 

Spec, Spak, Spaek, s. speke 

Sped, speeded, succeeded 

Speik, s. speak 

Speir, s. Spere, Speare, Speere, Spire, 
ask, enquire 

8o Chancer, In bU Rhyme of Sir 

Tbopas, 

" He songhte north and tooth, 

And oft he splrtd with his month." 

L e. enquired,— not spied, as in the 

new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. ii. 

p. 234. 

Spenee, Spent, expense 

Spendyd, p. 4, col. 1, probably the 

same as spanned, grasped 
Speered, Sparred, i» e. fastened, 

shut 

So in an old "Treatyse agaynst 
Pestilence, Ac. 4to. Em pry n ted by 
Wyokyn de Worde," we *re exhorted 
to " »pere (i. e. abut or bar) the wyn- 
dowes agenst the aootb," foL 5. 

Spillan, SpiUand, s. spilling 

Spill, p. 51, col. 1, SpUte, p. 15, 
col. 1, spoil, come to harm 

Spill, spoil, destroy, kill 

Spindle* and whorlet, the instru- 
ments used for spinning in 
Scotland, instead of spinning 
wheels 

The rock, spindles, and whorles are 
very tnoch nsed in Scotland and the 
northern parts of Northumberland, at 
this lir*c The thread tor shoe-makers, 



Thej 

i and 



and even linen webs, and all the twine 

of which the Tweed 

made, are span npon 

are said to make a 

smooth thread man t*»» <*r 

Mr. Lambe. 

Sporelet, spurless, without spurs 
Spate, shoulder; £ espaule. It 

seems to mean " arm-pit" 
Sprente, p. 3, coL £, spurted, 

sprung out 
Sparging, froth that purge* out 
Spurn, Spume, a kick, p. 5, coL 1. 

See Tear 
Spyde, spied 

Spy It, spoiled, destroyed 
Spyt, p. 2, coL 2, Spyu, spite 
Squelth, a blow, or bang 
Stabille, p. 26, coL 1, perhaps 

'stablish 
Stalwart, Stalworth, stout 
Stalworthlye, stoutly 
Stone, a. Stean, p. 21 , col 1, stone 
Stark, p. 14, col. 1, stiff, p. 25, 

col. t, entirely 
Startopet, buskins, or half boots 

worn by rustics, laced down 

before 
Stood, Stede, place 
Stean, s. stone 
Steedye, steady 
Stel, steel, Steitly, a. steely 
Stele, steel 
Steid, s. Stede, steed 
Steir, s. stir 
Stems, stars 

Sterne, stern, or perhaps, stars 
Stert, start, p. 82, col. 2, started 
Sterto, Sterted, started 
Steven, p. 22, col. 2, time 
Steven, p. 23, col. 2, voice 
Still, quiet, silent 
Stint, stop, stopped 
Stirande stage, p. 6, col. 2, a 

friend interpreted this, ••many 

a stirring travelling journey 
Stonderet, standers by 
Stoup of weir, pillar of war 
Stound, Stonde, (introd.) space, 

moment, hour, time 
Stoand, time, A-tiound, a-while 
Stour, p. 4, col. 1, 19, col. 1 , Stower, 

12, col. 2, Stoure, 8, col. 2, 14, 

col. 2, fight, disturbance, &c 

This word is applied in the 

north to signify dust agitated 

and put into motion, as by the 

sweeping of a room. 
Slower, Stowre, stir, disturbance, 

fight 
Stoum, stolen 

Stowre, strong, robust, fierce 
Stra, Strae, ft. straw 
Streight, straight 
Strekene, Stricken, struck 
Stret , Btreet 
Strick, Btrict 
Strike, stricken 
Stroke, p. 3, col 2, struck 
Stude, Staid, ft, stood 



GLOSSARY. 



305 



b'tyntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped 

Styrt, start 

Suar, sure 

Summer*, a saropter horse 

Sum, s. some 

Sumpten, p. 78, col. 2, horses that 
carry clothes, furniture, etc. 

Sune, s. soon 

Suore by ye chin, sworn by his 
chin 

Surcease, oease 

Suthe, Swith, soon, quickly 

Swapie, p. 3, col. 2, Swapped, p. 8, 
col. 2, Swopede, struck violently, 
Scot* Sweap, to scourge, (vid. 
Gl. Gaw. Dougl.) or perhaps 
exchanged ; sc. blows, so "Swap 
or Swopp" signifies 

Swaird, the grassy surface of the 
ground 

Swarvde, Swarved, climbed, or, as 
it is now expressed in the mid- 
land counties, Swarm, To swarm, 
is to draw oneself up a tree, 
or any other thing, clinging to 
it with the legs and arms, as 
hath been suggested by an in- 
genious correspondent 

Swa, Sa, so 

Swat, Swatte, Swotle, did sweat 

Swear, p. 2, col. 2, sward 

Swearde, Swerd, sword 

Sweare, swearing, oath 

Sweaven, a dream 

Stceit, s. Swete, sweet 

Sweere, Swire, neck 

Sweypylt. A Sweypyl is that staff 
of the flail, with which oorn is 
beaten out, vulg. a Supple, call- 
ed, in the midland counties, a 
Swindgell, where the other part 
is termed the hand-staff 

Swinkers, labourers 

Swith, quickly, instantly 

Swyke, sigh 

Swyoing, whoring 

Swypyng, striking last, (Cirob. 
Suipan, cito agere, or rather 
" scourging" from volvere, rap- 
tare ).— -Scot . Sweap, to scou rge. 
Vide. Glossary to Gawin Dou- 
glas 

Sych, such 

Syde+hear, p. 2, col. 2, Sydu-theor, 
p. 2, col. 2, on all sidles 

Syd, side 

Syne, s. then, afterwards 

Syshemell, Ishmael 

Syih, since 

Syst, sight 

T. 

Taiken, s. token, sign 

Taine, s. Tone, token 

Take, taken 

Talents, p. 17, coL 1, perhaps gol- 
den ornaments, hung from her 
head to the ralue of talents of 
gold 

Targe, target, shield 



I Tear, p. 5, col. 1, this teems to 
be a proverb, " That tearing, 
or pulling, occasioned his spurn 
or kick" 

Teene, Tent, sorrow, indignation, 
wrath, properly injury, affront 

Teenefu, s. full of indignation, 
wrathful, furious 

Te he ! interjection of laughing 

Teir, a. Tore, tear 

Tent, s. heed 

Termagaunt, the god of the Sa- 
racens. See a memoir on this 
subject in page 19 

The old French romancers, who had 
corrupted termagant Into tervagant, 
couple it with the name of Mahomet, 
as constantly as oars : thus, in the old 
Roman de Blanchardin, 

- Cv pier pison tolt Apolfa, 
Bt Mahomet et Tervagant." 
Hence Fontaine, with great hnmonr, 
in his tale entitled " La Fiancee da 
Roy de Garbe," says, 
" Et reviant Mahom. Jnpln, et Terva- 
gant, 
A Tec maint aatre dlen non moles ex- 
travagant." 
Mem. de I'Acad. des lnseript, torn. 90, 
4to, p. 853. 

As termagant is evidently of Anglo- 
Saxon derivation, and can only be 
explained from the elements of that 
language ; its being corrupted by the 
old French romancers proves that they 
borrowed some things from oars. 

Terry, diminitive of Thierry 

Tneodoricus, Didericus. Let. 

also of Terence 
Te to, Te make, to make 
Tha, them, Thah, though 
Thair, their, Thair, Thare, there 
Thame, s. them 
Than, s. then 

Thare, Their*, Ther, There, there 
Thear, Ther, p. 2, col. 2, there 
Thee, thrive, MoU he thee, may he 

thrive 
The God, seems contracted for 

Thehe,ue. high God. 
The, Thee, thrive. So met* I fast, 

so may I thrive 

So In Chancer, p a s sim, Canterbury 
Tales, vol. i. p. 908. 



M 



God let him never the." 



The, they, The wear, p. 2, ooL 1, 

they were 
The, thee, Thend, the end. 
Ther-for, p. 3, col. 1 , therefore 
Therto, thereto, Thee, these 
Ther, p. 2, col. 2, their 
77m, they 

Thie, thy, Thowe, thou 
Thi sone, thy son 
77ii^, this 
Thir towmonds, a, these twelve 

months 
Thir, s. this, these 
Thirtti thousent, thirty thousand 
Thocht, thought 
Thole, Thohd, suffer, suffered 
Tho, then, those, the 
Thouse, s thou art 



i Thoutt, thou shalt, or shouldest 
Thrall, p. 76, col. 2, captive, p. 29, 

col. 1, Thraldom, captivity 
Throng, s. throng, close 
Thrawii, s. throes 
Threape, to argue, to affirm or 

assert, in a positive overbearing 

manner 
Thre, Thrie, s. three 
Thru, Thre, three 
Thrif, thrive 
ThrtUed, twirled, turned round 
Thritle, thirty 

Throng, p. 42, col. 2, hastened 
Thropet, villages 
Throw, s. through 
Thruch, Thrown, s. through 
Thud, noise of a fail 
Theweg, manners. In p. 51, it 

signifies limbs 
Theyther-vard, thither-ward, to- 
wards that place 
Tibbe. In Scotland, Ttbbe is the 

dimnnitive of Isabel 
Tift, s. puff of wind 
Till, s. to, when, query 
Till, p. 4, coL 2, unto, p. 18, col. 

2, entice 
Tild down, pitched, qt 
Timkin, diminutive of Timothy 
Tine, p. 11, col. 2, lose 
Tint, s. lost 

Tirled, twirled, turned round 
Too-faU, s. twilight 

Too-faU of the night, " seems to be 
-an image drawn from a suspended 
canopy, so let fall as to cover what is 
bek>w."-Mr. Lambe. 

To, too, Item, two 

Tone, Tone, the one 

Ton, p. S, col. 1, Tone, the one 

Tor, a tower ; also a high pointed 

rock, or hill 
Tow, Towe, two, Two, s. two 
Tow, s. p. 31, col. 1, to let down 

with a rope, &c 
Towyn, p. 6, col. 2, town 
Traiterye, treason 
Trenehant, £ cutting 
T re s -bar d ie, f. thrice hardy 
Treytory, Traitory, treachery 
Trichord, treacherous, fr.tncheur 
Tricthen, trick, deceive 
Tride, tried 
Trie, s. Tre, tree 
Triestfurth, s. draw forth to an 

assignation 
Trifuleate, three forked, three 

pointed 
Trim, exact 

Troth, truth, faith, fidelity 
Trough, Trouth, troth 
Trowthe, Troth, Tru, true 
Trow, believe, trust, also verity 
Trumped, p. 1, boasted, told hrag- 

Sag lies, lying stories. So in 
e north they say, " that's a 
trump," i. e. a lie ; "she goes 
about trumping," i. e. telling 



30b 



GLOSSARY. 



Trumpt, made of a tree, perhaps, 

" wooden trumpets/' musical 

instruments fit enough for a 

mock tournament 
Tuik, a. took 
Tuke guds krip, a, kept a close 

eve upon her 
Tut, a. till, to 
runt, p. 78, col 2, each turn, such 

an occasion 
Turns* a crab, ac. at the fire roasts 

a crab 
Tuth, an interjection of contempt, 

or impatience 
Twa, a. two 
Twaynt, two 
Twm'd, a. p. 10, col. 2, parted, 

separated. Vid. G. Douglas 
Twirtls, (wist, s. thoroughly 

twisted, " twisted," ** twirled 

twist," f. tortiUe 

U 
Uch, each 

Ugtome, s. shocking, horrible 
Unbethought, for bethought. So 

Unlosse, for loose 
Unetwms, fat, clammy, oily 
Undermerlet, afternoons 
Undight, undecked, undressed 
Unkempt, uncombed 
Unmacklye, mis-shapen 
Unmujit, a. undisturbed, uncon- 

founded, perhapa UnmuvU 
Unteeltd, opened ; a term in falcn. 
Untett Steven, p. 22, col. 2, unap- 

pointed time*, unexpectedly 
Utisonsie, a. unlucky, unfortunate 
Untyll, unto, p. 42, col. 2, against 
Pre, use 
U tJier$ t s. others 

V 

Voir, (8omersetsh. Dialect,) fair 

Valtisnt, a. valiant 

Vat*n y (Som.) probably for Fal- 
then, i, e. faiths ; aa Houten, 
Uloten, Ace. 

Venn, (Introd.) approach, coming 

Vices, (probably contracted for 
devices) p. 27, col. 1, screws, 
or perhaps, turning pins, swi- 
rels. An ingenious friend 
thinks a rice is rather " a 
spindle of a press," that goeth 
by a rice, that s oo m o th to 
more of itself. 

Vitane, p. 25, col. 1, rascally 

Vint, (Somerset.) five 

Voyded. p. 43, coL S, quitted, left 
the place 

Vriert, (Som.) friars 

W. 

Wa, a. way, wall 
Wadded, perhaps from Wood, L e. 
of a light blue colour* 

Taylor, in his History of Gavel-kind, 
p. 40, tavi, u Bright, from the British 
word brith, which signifies their wad- 
•Vootor; this was a light bine.*' — 
ftiuuacw's Dictionary. 



Wad, a. Wold, Wolds, would 
Woe, Wa*fo\ woe, woful 
Watworth, a. woe betide 
Waint, waggon 
WalUnoit, a. faded, withered 
Walker, a fuller of cloth 
Waltered, Welte-ed, rolled along, 

also wallowed 
WaUering, weltenng 
Waly, an interjection of grief 
Wane, s. womb 
Warn*, Went, s. belly 
Wane, p. 3, col. 2, the same as 

Ant, one So Wont, p. 4, col. 

1, is one 

In fol 359 of Baaaatvae'a US. U a 
short fragment in which Want la aatd 
for Am; or, one : vis. 
" Amongst the monsters that we And, 
There's wane belowed of womankind. 
Renowned for antkmityi 
From Adame driva Us pedigree.** 

Wan neir, s. draw near 

Want-iife, a. uneasy 

War, p. 2, col. 2, aware 

Wards, s. advise; forewarn 

Ward, s. watch, sentinel 

Warke, s. work 

Warld, a. world 

Wurld'u, a. p. 15, col. 2, worlds 

Waryton, p. 8, col. 1, reward 

Waryd, s. accursed 

W asset, drinking, good cheer 

Wait, a. Weete, Wets, Witt; Wot, 

Wott, WotU, know 
Wat*, a. blamed, Pret. of Wyte, 

to blame 
Wat, p. 3, col. 1, Wa, know, am 

aware 
Wat, a. wet, also knew 
Wax, to grow, become 
Wayward, fro ward, peevish 
Wayde, waved 
Weal, p. 4, coL 2, wail 
Wtalt, p. 28, col. 2, happiness, 

prosperity, &c. 
Weare in, s. drive in gently 
Wearifu', wearUome, tiresome, 

disturbing 
Weede, clothing, dress 
Weedet, clothes 
Wee, s. little 
Weal, well, also we'll 
Ween, Weend, think, thought 
Weet, a. wet 

rfVaVui , p. 4, coL 2, widows 
Weil, a. Weepe, weep 
WW#, S. rfW«, r^ent, rrWfr, 

Weened, thought 
Weid, s. rfVds, rFsti, clothes, clo- 
thing 
Weird, wizard, witch, properly 

fate, destiny 
Well away, exclamation of pity 
Weldynge, ruling 
Wei of' pits, source of pity 
Welkin, the sky 
Weme, womb, belly, hollow 
Wem, (Introd.) hurt 
W ende, went, Wendsth, goeth 



Wends, p. 44, coL *, Weens 

thought 
Wend, Wends, go, goes 
Went, Wtenest, ween, w eenest 
Werre, Weir, a. war. Warr'u, s 



Werrved, worried 

Wereth, defendeth 

Werkt, work 

Wer, were 

Wet, was 

Wettlin, s. western 

Westlingi, western, or whistling 

Wha, s. who 

Whair, a. where 

rFaai», s. when 

Whang, s. a large slice 

Wheelyng, wheeling 

Whtdtr, whither. 

Whir, sour whey, or butter-milk 

WhSe, p. 76, coL 1, until 

Whilk, s. which 

Whitdtt, knives 

rtfftit, jot 

ffoaard, hoard 

WhorUs. Vide apmrfte 

IfTuw, p. 25, coL 2, whoao 

*%%«, whilst 

Wi\ a. with 

^<gA(, p. 50, col. 2, person, p 

76, col. 1, strong, lusty 
Wight, human creature, man oi 

woman 
Wighty, p. 22, col. 1, strong. 

lusty, active, nimble 
WighUye, p. IS, col. 1, vigorousl) 
Will, a. p. 20, coL 1, shall 
Wild, worm, serpent 
Wildings, wild apples 
WilfuU, p. 22, col. 2, wandering 

perverse, erring 
Winnat, p. 10, col. 2, will not 
Iffiidar, perhapa the cootractioa 

of rf tmtfaovsr, a kind of hawk 
Windling, a. winding 
Win, s. get, gain 
rf'tnsoms, p. 83, col. 1, agreeable, 

engaging 
Wirke wittier, work more wisely 
Wittt, direct, govern, take care of. 

a. a. piffian 
Wist, p. 73, col. 2, know, wist, 

knew 
Wit, Weet, know, understand 
Withouten, WuhoughUn, without 
Wohtter, 8. Webster, weaver 
Wood-wroth, a. furiously enraged 
Woodweels, p. 21 , col. 2, ox \Vode- 

waU, the golden ouile, a biro. 

of the thrush kind. Gloss. 

Cbauc. The original MS. has 

Wood weete 
Wode, Wod, wood, also mad 
Wode-ward, towards the wood 
Wot-begone, p. 14, col. 1, lost in 

woe, overwhelmed with grief 
Woe-man, a sorrowful man 
Woe-xcorth, woe be to [you] a. s- 

northan (fieri) to be, to be* 

come 



r 



GLOSSARY. 



307 



Woe, woful, sorrowful 

Wolde % would 

Wonne, dwell 

Wondert, wondrous 

Wonde. f Introd."* wound, winded 

Worid y p. 79, col. t, Wonn'd, 

dwelt 
Wondersly, Wonderly, won- 

drously 
Won, wont, usage 
Wont, p. 4, coL 1, one 
WorshipfuUy friended, of worship- 
ful friends 
Worthi, worthy 
Wot, know, think 
Wote, Wot, know, I vote, verily 
Wouche, p. 3, ool. 2, mischief, 

evil, a. g. pohg, i. e. Wohg. 

Malum 
Wo, Woo, woe 
Wow, an exclamation of wonder, 

also Vow, London dialect 
Wracke, ruin, destruction 
Wrong, s. wrung 
Wreake, pursue revengefully 
Wrench, wretchedness 
Wright, p, S6, coL 1, write 
Wringe, p. t 5, coL 1, contended 

with violence 
Writhe, p. 75, col. 2, writhed, 

twisted 
Wronge, wrong 
fTmagt, wrought 
Jfro/ceii, revenged 
Wuu, s. will 

Wyght, p. 79, col. 1, strong, lusty 
Wyghtye, p. 46, ooL 1, the same 
WyU, p. 2, coL %, wild deer 
Wynne, Win, joy 
Wynnen, win, gain 
Wynde, Wend*, go 
Wytte, knew 
H^yte; blame 
JTyc, JFU, JFerf, know 



r, I, r ««/nge, I sing 

Fise, s. each 

Yalping, s. yelping 

Fa7»«^, yawned 

Yave, p. 73, col. 1, gave 

Fate, gate 

y-faora, F-fcorwi, bear, borne. 

So Y-founde, found, Y-mad, 

made, Y-wonne, won 
y.6uiir, built 
Ych, Yche, each 
Ycholde yef, 1 should if 
Ychone, p. 8, col. 3, each one 
Ychon, each one 
Fc/iu^ (In trod.) I shall 
Ychyteled, cut with the chisel 
Y-cleped, named, called 
Y-con'd, taught, instructed 
Y-core, chosen 
Ydle, idle 

Yet, p. 8, ool. 1, eye 
Ytarded, buried 
Ye bent, Y-bent, bent 
Yede, Yode, went 
Ye eeth, Y-seth, in faith 
Yeha, Ilka, each, every 
Yeldjfde, yielded 
Yenoughe, ynoughe, enough 
Yerrarchy, hierarchy 
Yere, Yeere, year, years 
YerU, p. 3, col. 1, Yerlle, earl 
Yerly, p. %, col. 3, early 
Yete, s. ye shall 
Yestreen, s.yester evening 

FAif 

ITers, together 
Y-founde, found 
yg7u>rau«£e, ignorance 

Ytt,m 

Ylke, Ilk, same, 27ka* yUc, that 

same 
FtyiA* (Introd.) listen 
Yn, in 



Kii Aoum, home 
YngUmde, England 
Ynggluhe, Ynglyuhe, English 
Yode, went 
yo»w, you 

Y-picking, picking, culling, ga- 
thering 
Yt, is, bis, in his 
Y-sUxw, slain 
Yetonge, (Introd.) stung 
Yt, it 

Yth, p. 2, col. 2, in the 
Y-voere, were 

y-iw'f, p. 28, col. 1, 1 wit, verily 
Y -wrought, wrought 
Y-wyt, truly, verily 
Y-yote, molten, melted 



Zacring-beU, Som. Sacring hell, n 
little bell rung to give notice of 
the elevatioo of the host 

Zee, Zeene, Som. see, saen 

2*r j, ye shall 

Ze, s. ye, ZmY*, ye are 

£«b, rads, went 

z«f, y«f,if 

Zevrt, s. years 

Zellow, s. yellow 

£em«, take care of, a. s. seman 

Zent, through, a. s. zeon'o 

Zettrene, s. yester e'en 

Zit, s. Zet, yet 

Zender, s. yonder 

£ong, s. young 

Zou, s. you, Zowr, s. your 

Zoud, s. you'd, you would 

Zour-lane, Your lane, alone, by 

yourself 
Zouth, 8. youth 
£ulf, s. xttte , christmas 
Zungf s. young 



%• The printer has usually substituted the letter s, to express the character g, which occurs in old MS3.; 
I ut we are not to suppose that this g was ever pronounced as our modern a ; it had rather the force of y, 
(and, perhaps, of gh), being no other than the Saxon letter g, which the Soots and English have, in man) 
sistanoes, changed in y, as geajib, yard, gea/i, year, geong, young, &c 



■<» »" m 



**m 



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